


How Much the Flesh is Worth

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: In revision, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9446369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: on hiatus/possibly given up on





	1. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N

Sorry, guys. I can't really do this anymore. I'm not really taking this anywhere and both this and the last story I posted are slow, make little to no sense, and have flat characters. I'm not good at writing emotional works even though it's what I aspire to do. I'm sorry if you were someone who thought, for some reason, that this was good. I've been rushing through the chapters as fast as I can, not writing a storyboard anymore, and not paying attention to how each character works. Maybe in a few days, given I don't get any extreme hate for this, I'll delete most of the chapters and my storyboard and try again, this time with a true intent to do better. I'm dealing w/ a lot of shit at home too, which isn't an excuse. Sorry, the lot of you. :)


	2. Discovery

Yuuri fidgeted restlessly, his fingers thrumming on his upper thigh just below his pocket. The chill of the air around him made him shift to pull his jacket tighter around his lean shoulders. What was Phichit doing? Shouldn’t he have given the signal by now?

 

It was just about noon, the sun glistening above his head and shining down upon him like a spotlight. Despite the midday rays and the absence of any sort of breeze, he was absolutely freezing, shaking like a madman and gripping the edges of his khaki-colored jacket in his pale fingers. Winter in Detroit was cold, yes, but never this relentless. It frustrated Yuuri greatly that he was always the one who had to leave the Headquarters to investigate. Phichit was probably sitting in that old armchair of his, chattering animatedly instead of paying attention. All while  _he_ was freezing his ass off.

 

Though, he couldn’t help but believe that it was more than just the cold that had him on edge.

 

Katsuki Yuuri, “The face of Justice”, he was sometimes called. He wasn’t a leader, but that was what he had been expected to become. Just a few years prior to this very day, he had been cornered by an old college friend, Phichit Chulanont. He had looked nothing like when they had shared a dorm and stayed up watching cheesy movies from the rental place just outside of campus. His hair was messy and his eyes presented dark circles underneath, but he spoke calmly and optimistically when he introduced Yuuri to his new job.

 

The ‘Underground’, a secret series of organizations bent on tracking down human traffickers and other fiends of the sort, was thrust at the young Japanese man before he could really understand what joining it meant. He hadn’t had much of a choice in the matter, Phichit had been especially sure to remind him of that. It had taken some time to adjust and had shocked him to his core when he realized he was no longer a normal U.S. citizen. He lived in the shadows, reminiscent of the very people he and his cause were consistently hunting.

 

“Hey,” The walkie in Yuuri’s hand crackles to life, “You’re good to go.”

 

He frowned in confusion, raising the object to his lips and pressing the button down sharply. “What the hell, Leo? What’s Phichit doing?”  His right-hand man and old friend was  _supposed_ to be the one at the monitors right now, making sure the area was clear before he charged in unarmed. Leo De La Iglesia was another member of the organization, a tech guy, to be exact. The computers were his specialty, but he wasn’t Yuuri’s partner.

 

“He’s, uhh…” The American trails off, his voice low, as if the man in question is in the room with him and he’s trying to smack-talk undetected. “He’s not paying much attention. I feel I’ll be more helpful.” The other man sighs deeply, rubbing his forehead with his spare hand. Despite the uneasiness at having someone who’s never done this at his aid, Yuuri does trust Leo. He’s incredibly intelligent.

 

“Yea. Alright.” He takes a few steps forward, glancing around to see if anyone has appeared in the relatively abandoned area in the past few minutes. “We’re good to go.”

 

For the past few months, Yuuri had been working on one case in particular. The man they were after was Russian, and definitely over the age of fifty. The idea of the old man surrounded by his victims made bile rise in his throat along with white-hot fury. He hadn’t thought much about the ‘human-trade’ before joining, but the more he learned, the more he despised the sick creatures who took part in this disgusting market. The victims this man was bargaining off to smaller, American dealers were smuggled into the U.S. directly from Northwest Russia, so they weren’t even accounted for by police or the government. They were like fish out of water here. Helpless.

 

Yuuri creeps closer to the entrance of a nearby alleyway, one that just so happens to be snugly tucked in between two adjacent buildings. It was a convenient, out-of-sight spot for any kinds of deals these sickos were trying to make. The organization had yet to locate any type of headquarters for the Russian man’s ‘business’, nor any of the victims or any evidence that they were even in America currently. The only way to see if these men were here recently was to look.

 

Peering down the alley, it’s not hard to pick out the shadow of a car parked behind a rather tall dumpster, cast ever so slightly to the right from the angle of the sun overhead. How had the old man even managed such a parking job? Yuuri steps carefully, gracefully maneuvering between heaps of trash bags and aluminum cans. To make a loud noise in a place like this, unarmed, with a criminal unfamiliar with English just up ahead, would be suicide.

 

Once he’s alongside the car, an old model of what he believes to be a Cadillac, he realizes with a jolt that he’s in plain view. There’s a moment of blind panic, scrambling backward to press his back flush against the chilly metal of the dumpster until he realizes one simple truth. There’s no one _in_ the car.

 

Starting back around the edge of the metal box, his eyes survey the scene with critical intensity. There’s nothing here but the Cadillac, abandoned in the alley. He strides ahead, pink high on his cheekbones, a bit embarrassed by his obvious, deadly mistake. No one was there to see, but he still tells himself that the reflection he sees in the car’s side mirrors is only blushing because of the cold nipping at his face.

 

It becomes evident that this isn’t even the Russian’s car as he pulls open an unlocked door to sit in the driver’s seat. There’s a figurine on the dash of some baseball player he doesn't know and a pair of dice hang in the windshield; they’re generally uninteresting, but _very_ American. On the other hand, a yellow file tucked into the console next to him looks enticing, but as he goes to grab for the stack of papers, it hits him like a pile of bricks.

 

The door was _unlocked_.

 

His head spinning, Yuuri realizes that either this is a trap or the man who drove this car was coming back soon. The car had obviously been parked here recently, the garbage beneath its wheels had been smashed within the past few hours. He had to move. Fast.

 

Snatching the pile of papers and scanning the car seats for anything of any interest or any evidence that the owner of this car was connected to the Russian he’s after, Yuuri raises the walkie to his lips, his finger grazing the button to contact Leo back at headquarters, but before he can, something- or _someone_ \- startles him.

 

The brief panic that floods his system has him on overdrive, catapulting himself out of the car seat and shutting the door with his free hand, the file and walkie clutched tightly in the other. Stumbling around a collection of cans near his feet, he glances down the alley in both directions, eyes wide like an animal. But the tension slowly dispels as he realizes there's no one there. The mystery, and Yuuri’s confusion, on the other hand, thicken like smog in the air around him. The noise, as he recalls it with a clear head, wasn’t a  _ normal _ voice.

 

It had been a groan.

 

Rushing to the rear end of the car, where he had heard the noise, Yuuri doesn’t think twice as he pops the trunk open. It bounces slightly, threatening to come back down on its rickety hinges, but the machinery doesn’t have his attention any longer. What’s inside the luggage compartment is much, much more interesting. Or should he say absolutely _horrifying?_

 

Lying inside the tiny, suffocating space of the Cadillac’s trunk is a human being.

 

It’s hard to tell if they’re living at first, completely naked sans the loose underwear hanging around their bony, emaciated hips. Yuuri takes a look at their frame once more, and the only sign that points to the sex of the victim is the flat curve of their chest, just as sickly and gaunt as the hips. His rib bones move slowly, but steadily, out and in with shaky, deep breaths. The color of his skin is almost yellow, covered in angry, mottled bruises and different types of lacerations and lumps. His blond hair is long and matted, obscuring his face. It seems he’s been this way for far too long. How he’s still living is something that Yuuri just can’t quite wrap his head around.

 

This must be one of the victims, he decides. The Russian had gotten rid of him for cheap because of his injuries and spindly frame. It was sickening. He has to steady himself against the body of the Cadillac to keep from puking on his own feet at the smell that accompanies the badly beaten boy. Raising the walkie to his lips, Yuuri presses the button as he meant to earlier.

  
“Leo? We have a slight complication.”


	3. The Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The American dealer decides to return to his car. Meanwhile, Yuuri wishes someone would answer the damn comm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and the comments, I appreciate it a lot !! (I updated the first chapter this morning because I realized I had accidently deleted a paragraph when I was proofreading.)

Yuuri was understandably on edge, trembling vaguely as he awaits a response from the other line. Now it was definitely not the cold that had him so jarred. The comm remains silent, increasing his fear substantially. Did they not care about this mission at all? Leo  _ said  _ he’d help; where was he now?

 

A gust of wind sweeps down the alleyway and he turns his face away from the blast of chill, gripping his shoulders like a small, hiding child. He couldn’t depend on any of them right now, the idea that his own team takes his safety so lightly causes his heart both drop and harden in the same moment. No one was there when he needed them most. 

 

He scowls, staring at the trash piled up around his feet before turning back to the matter at hand. He’d deal with this alone then.

 

The owner of the car, and apparently of the man in the trunk as well, would return presently, he was sure. There was no way someone, not even a creep like this, would be stupid enough to leave their car somewhere like this for longer than a half-hour. He still had to get out of here, with the files, but now the situation had to be handled a bit more intricately than simply strutting out of the alley, papers in hand. 

 

The goal of the organization wasn’t to rescue current victims. In fact, this was the first time Yuuri had ever come in direct contact with someone who had been enslaved by these criminals. No, their goal was to stop the perpetrators; to cease the activity within the market, which, in turn, freed the men and women who were locked away. They were an intervention group, not rescuers. How was he supposed to handle this?

 

All he knows is that this man is  _ alive _ , and there is no way in hell he is leaving him here to whatever repulsive, harrowing fate awaits him. He tries to keep thoughts of just what exactly goes on behind closed doors out of his head, but the images of a man like the one in front of him flash behind his eyelids as he squeezes them shut. He imagines them like he always has: gagged and bound, dried blood and tears plastered to their skin, dreading in the darkness of wherever they’ve been stowed away. 

 

Somehow, when he opens his eyes, reality is so much worse.

 

The man hasn’t moved an inch, but his ragged breathing continues.  _ Alive. _ Compassion burns in his chest. Yuuri’s determination intensifies as he recalls the shiftless batch of men sitting on their asses at the Headquarters. He’s going to save this man, regardless of the organization's purpose. He was called the face of justice for a reason and that wasn’t going to change today. 

 

But before he can act, or even lift his eyes to the man in the trunk, he finds himself with more hysteria coursing through him than he’s ever felt in all his years. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, of crunching garbage and leaves, has him frozen to the spot, his eyes widening akin to a cat’s.

 

Someone was coming.

 

Someone was coming quickly. The sounds of their movement hurried and hushed, their impending arrival was paralyzing to Yuuri. The idea of being captured by the people who had done  _ this _ to someone who had never wronged them clues him in that he won’t survive the encounter. He’s unarmed and without back-up. He has to  _ go. _

 

Shoving the file folder in the waistband of his slacks, he reaches to grab the arms of the man in the trunk, hoisting him out rather efficiently by his shoulders. Expecting a heavier weight, Yuuri stumbles, grasping for purchase on the edge of the car as his, and the man’s, weight is thrown backward. He’s taken aback at this revelation. Despite the sunken curve of his torso and his skin twisting like paper over thin, gaunt bones, he should be at least a hundred pounds, but no- he had to weigh less than ninety. This man had to be about eighteen, right? The victims he had heard of were usually aged about twenty-five to thirty, but the occasional college student wasn’t unheard of. Unless- 

 

He shudders, the image of the man collapsed in his arms seeming to morph into a child right before his eyes. He tries to deny that they would stoop that low, to defile and torture a child, but he knows in his mind that these men know no bounds. 

 

Shifting the practical skeleton in his arms, he wraps an arm around his lower back to balance him against his own shoulder. Now that he had a grip on the victim, he could get out of here. That was precisely what he needed to do, posthaste. The footsteps were louder now, and as Yuuri sprints down the alley, the boy’s head lolling at his collarbone, he rounds the corner just as the man comes into view.

 

He mentally curses himself, gasping for breath as he runs to the end of the sidewalk, just out of sight of the alleyway. He should have shut the doors on the car, or at least the trunk. He had left them swinging open, the absence of the abused man would be noticed as quickly as the criminal returned and then they’d start searching for him. The hypothetical of being found is terrifying enough with the idea of being shot looming ominously over him, but more so is the idea of them taking back the spindly man in his arms. He wouldn’t last against any more of whatever they’d been putting him through. 

 

Switching his arms to grab under his knees, he opts to carry the unconscious man the way a newlywed would carry his bride, supporting his back with a lean arm. Squeezing in between two dumpsters against the edge of the building near the end of the sidewalk, Yuuri raises the walkie to his mouth again, his voice sharp like a blade.

 

“Pick up. Now.”

 

A soft blip lets him know his battery is running low and his heart hammers in his chest as he strains to listen for any sound of someone approaching. Feeling a bit safer in this compromising position, he finds himself startled when the comm responds. He hadn’t expected it.

 

“Yuuri? Why so angry? What’s wrong?” 

 

Phichit’s cheery tone is like ice to his fire in this moment, and he grits his teeth as he answers the basket of questions. 

 

“I found someone. Living. Send someone to my location now.”

 

He’s not screwing around. He speaks in a hushed, but fiery whisper, his eyes glancing to the still slack face of the man he rescued. Phichit doesn’t reply, but Yuuri knows he got the message. He’s alerting the group now. Relief pours through his body like liquid, seeping into his muscles and relaxing his tension. They’d come to his aid soon, they wouldn’t disappoint him now, even if they weren’t the most attentive team. He still trusted them despite the many mistakes. 

 

Still keeping an ear out for sounds of a creeping assailant, he tilts the other man’s resting face towards his own to get a proper look at him. 

 

The area underneath his eyes is violet and inflamed, he had been punched recently. Well, probably more than just punched. His jawline sports an angry, red cut. So delicate and fine that it had to have been made by a blade. Most likely a threat to slit his throat if he acted out. His cheeks are sunken in and his facial bones jut out like framework. Even his nose is displaced, obviously broken, and his lips are split in three different places, swollen and bruised. It was nauseating, and Yuuri isn’t sure how he keeps from throwing up when he considers just what that man was planning on doing with him.

 

Suddenly perking up, his attention shifts when he hears the sound of a car.

 

This news was either something to rejoice or something to fear. It could very well be the man he had just stolen from, he realizes, feeling the file in his waistband shift uncomfortably. Or it could be someone from his team, here to drive them to safety.  He prays for the latter, shutting his eyes tight and wiggling to pull himself further into the crevice between the dumpsters. Their HQ wasn't far at all, a mere quick jog from the very place he's hiding, but the alley was closer.

 

A moment of listening to the hum of tires on pavement feels like hours of lying in agonizing wait, holding his breath and tightening his muscles as he readies himself to face whatever the truth comes to be. This could be life or death for the both of them. He can’t help the dry humor that rises in him as he realizes that the poor sap in his arms has no idea what’s even going on.

 

The front end of a bumper comes into view, and he can’t help the soft groan of relief that escapes him as he recognizes the tags on the car. It’s Georgi Popovich, a Russian engineer that joined their cause two years back. He had some sort of twisted past that Yuuri would rather just forget about right now. He shuffles his way out of the hole, momentarily questioning how he’d managed to fit himself in there, and shifts his eyes quickly for any sign of the American dealer or his Cadillac. 

 

Georgi pulls to a stop in front of him, rolling down the window of the passenger seat automatically. The look in his eyes doesn’t change, but he grimaces slightly when he looks at the man in his colleague’s arms. He motions for Yuuri to open the back door of the car, most likely to put the man down, and as he complies he finds himself silently thanking the powers above for letting Phichit tune in for once. He’ll have to go easy on him once he gets back to Headquarters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (My story is showing the end notes for the last chap in this chap as well? I'm not sure why)


	4. Files

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri takes a look into the files. He wishes he hadn't.

The silence in the car is deafening. Yuuri shifts gently, resisting the urge to glance into the back seat. He’s uncomfortable, despite Georgi being a good friend of his. The older man had some secrets he’d never bothered to share, and while this fact has never phased him before, the few things he  _ has  _ been told make this situation a bit more unsettling than he'd prefer. 

 

The only one that had been in the organization longer than the man in the driver’s seat was Phichit, who had been the one to help their former professor, Celestino Cialdini, create the group.  He was a transfer student from St. Petersburg when he was recruited and, as far as Yuuri knows, he came from an abusive household. He was sure Georgi was recalling something unpleasant, his face twisted into a grimace and his usual charisma sapped. He feels torn, deciding whether or not to reach out to the Russian. 

 

One more moment of awkward silence passes and he opts to change the subject on his mind entirely, reaching for the file folder tucked into his pants. The light yellow cover seems to gleam, tempting him with the promise of answers and particulars galore. The idea of all the neat, little papers tucked inside, dripping with details about the dealers they were after, has him pulling the pages apart before he can consider what exactly he’s going to read inside.

 

In his peripheral vision, Yuuri can see his driver give him a sideways glance, obviously interested in the intel himself. They can touch base on the contents once they arrive at Headquarters; it should only take a few minutes to get there, anyway. To pass the time, he begins to scan the first page, attempting to decipher just what the pages are trying to convey. 

 

At first, it appears to be an essay. Giving off the innocent tone of a report that one would send to their boss at the end of a good week. It’s peppered with words he doesn’t quite understand, words he assumes to be codewords, or possibly words in another language. As he reads on, flipping to the second page, things take a more sinister turn.

 

A picture of the man lying unconscious in the back seat is stapled to the upper part of the paper. It’s a black and white photo, but the terrified look in his eyes is indisputable. He’s sitting upright, leaning back against what looks like a chest of drawers, his legs are crossed and his zip-tied hands are covering the lower part of his face. The monochrome coloring fades from an unpigmented white to dark gray in varying spots up and down his legs, obvious bruises. 

 

Yuuri has to suppress a noise of pure surprise. This must be from the Russian dealer, which would explain the misspellings and the words he couldn’t understand. When he traded the mere shell of a man to the American he must’ve made this to go along with him. It was a common practice to keep documents on the victims they bartered, but he hadn’t expected for one to come into his possession. There was a lot he could learn from this. 

 

Tearing his eyes from the photo, he looks at the sentence written to accompany it. 

 

_ “Yuri Plisetsky” _

 

He doubles back, seeking to confirm what he just read. Had his eyes deceived him, or had he really read that right? He brings a hand up to support his chin, curiosity blooming in his chest. They shared a name? Granted, this was the Russian equivalent, but it was ‘Yuri’ all the same.  Glancing to Georgi, he decides it’s best to leave the information alone until they’re inside and have the entire team to look over and analyze the content. 

 

As he goes to snap the folder shut, Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat. His wandering eyes had managed to soak in one last detail before he locked away the information held within for a later time. 

 

_ “Aged 15 years.” _

 

He hadn’t wanted to believe it, back in the alley, but it seems that exactly what he had been so fearful of was exactly the truth. This  _ man _ was nothing short of a child. That was why, besides his obvious state of abuse and neglect, he had been so terribly light. A gag rises in his throat, a barrage of tormentingly repulsive thoughts swarming his mind. They had kidnapped, beaten, and violated a  _ child?  _ He was a sensitive person, he always believed that there was good left in these people and that they could reform their ways if they were first brought to justice, but now- In the face of such a despicable crime, Yuuri feels no remorse for whatever fate awaits these bastards once he catches them. 

 

Seeing this  _ boy _ , Yuri, mere inches from death, locked in the trunk of a car, and torn from his home to a strange country, makes his blood boil, a torrent of emotion pouring over him. He turns to look behind his seat, the file slipping off his lap and landing on his shoes. The boy has his back turned to him,  every bone in his torso pointing out like knives. His slender fingers are wrapped around a loose seat belt hanging near his head. Blonde hair pools against the dark leather of Georgi’s car seats and the mats and tangles bring about a new type of sympathy; a desire to protect, to protect Yuri, grows in his heart; a sort of paternal feeling he isn’t used to. It makes his stomach roll uncomfortably. He turns around abruptly, trying to dismiss the mixture of pity, anger, and sadness with a shake of his head.

  
  


He hadn’t realized the car coming to a stop a few feet away from the Headquarters, glancing to Georgi before realizing with a start that the other man has the file folder open in his lap. He must’ve snatched it when it fell. Though Yuuri wanted to keep it to himself until later, it’s not such a big issue that he has to act out. He sits patiently instead, waiting for the other to finish the first page and see the disturbing truth on the second. He knows Georgi’s seen the picture and read the information when he hears the other make a strangled noise, snapping his head up to make eye contact.

 

“He’s fifteen?”

 

The question is simple, and the answer obvious, but his tongue feels like a lead weight in his mouth and his throat is as dry as a desert. The other man, visibly shaken, closes the folder slowly and stares out the windshield with a void expression. What was he thinking?

 

Instead of questioning the matter further, Georgi opens his door and climbs out of the car briskly, slamming it once he’s clear of its path. This leaves Yuuri startled and slightly intimidated. Georgi could be dramatic at times, well no- Georgi spent most of his waking hours being the king of drama, but that was in times where they were simply scouting or tracking, not in the middle of a very important case. He knew when it was time to become serious. 

 

He must be upset then, and he wouldn’t doubt that it had something to do with triggering memories of his own past through reading the information on Yuri. It was nauseating to even think about.

 

The back door opens at the same time Yuuri opens his own door, the other man's figure coming into view as he drops down to pull the small refugee out of his car. HIs black tank top shifts as he leans forwards, once again reminding the Japanese man of just how cold it was outside as he steps onto the street and closes the car door at the same time. Georgi was cold-blooded, but damn, it had to be below forty degrees, right? 

 

“Ah! Be careful.” He calls to the Russian, waving his hand to the other as he rounds the front of the car to help him secure the boy and get him out of this cold. If he, bundled in a jacket, was this cold, then Yuri had to be  _ freezing _ . Russian or not.

 

He has to resist the urge to ask the taller, well-built man to carry the boy himself. He trusts Georgi, but he feels strange; as if he needs to be one-hundred-percent sure of the boy’s safety despite him being one of his most trusted colleagues. The other man is already started towards the abandoned complex they’ve lived in for the past few years, the ‘Headquarters’, with Yuri dangling from his arms like a limp doll. The older Russian has it all under control, it seems, and Yuuri jogs for a moment to catch up, casting his gaze to get a once-over of the minor’s face. Still unconscious. 

 

As they reach the door, he moves to open it with the flat of his hand. Their arrival is met with two curious gazes, Leo and Phichit, sitting on the small couch in the main room. As he looks back to meet Georgi’s eyes, he opens his mouth to introduce the newcomer.

  
“This is Yuri.”


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guang-Hong tries to assess the boy's health. He gets upset instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the next chapter gets more interesting. I'm writing this one event at a time, rather than try to squash the details into one chapter. This is just build up for the real plot line ;)

Phichit is the first to react. If one could call standing up and nearly upsetting the coffee table a reaction. 

 

Leo, on the other hand, expresses his surprise in a more collected manner. He rises to his feet, minding the man at his side, who is currently gaping at the boy hanging limply in Georgi’s arms. He approaches cautiously, acting as if Yuri was a frightened kitten. He peers at the boy’s face, frowning at the way his head dangles loosely near the Russian’s muscular arm. 

 

“He’s unconscious.” Yuuri and Georgi speak at the same time, although the taller man’s voice is drowned out by the other’s confident tone. They share a glance at one another before turning their attention back to the other two standing opposite to them. 

 

Phichit rushes forwards, his eyes wide as saucers. Did he not believe his partner when he'd called on the comm? He said he had found a surviving victim, but the look on his face is swirled with disbelief, as if he can't process what he's looking at. He reaches a hand out to steady himself when he stops at Leo’s side, his eyes flickering from one man to the other. 

 

“You guys have the same name?”

 

Typical Phichit. 

 

He was intelligent, no doubt, and he had people skills that could manipulate even the most secretive of targets, but he was never one to be particularly focused. Yuuri supposes that why they’re such good friends. He was socially awkward, but his brain could hone in on even the smallest detail, while the other was popular with all kinds of people and never bothered to pay attention. They balanced one another.

 

He finds the previous frustration he felt at his team melting away as he watches their expressions closely, trying to gauge exactly what they’re thinking about their new addition. Before he can get a good look, Georgi steps forward abruptly, effectively startling Phichit, who stumbles backward to get out of the other’s way. Leo follows at his heels, staring upwards with curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

 

The group makes their way into the center of the room, gathering around their ancient couch as Yuri is laid down gently. His head rolls to the side, his hair falling off of his forehead to reveal another large bruise against his hairline. Phichit sucks in a breath, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm as he squats next to the couch. He turns his head to look at the rest of his team before reaching out to rest his hand against an angular shoulder. His tanned skin looks so much darker pressed against the sickly pale tone beneath his fingers.

 

“Let me get Guang-Hong,” Leo announces suddenly, turning on a dime to head towards one of the many ‘bedrooms’ they’d set up. His hair bounces against his neck as he leaves the room, brushing against his bright red jacket. He looks so out of place here. 

 

Now that everyone has settled down, it's silent.  Usually, despite the severity of their jobs, the ‘Headquarters’ reminded him of his time in college. When they weren’t working, they were goofing off; acting like a normal friend group would. He has to suppress a laugh. They were so far from normal. They lived in a deserted apartment, for God’s sake.

 

The ‘Headquarters’ was nothing more than a few empty rooms on the ground-level of a forgotten suite. They’d drug in some cots and a few tables, bought a coffee maker, and argued over who’d get the groceries. And just like that, it was where they called home. In a moment of sentimentality, the word _family_ crosses his mind.  The sound of footsteps catches his attention before his thoughts can delve any further into such heavy territory. Guang-Hong comes into view and smiles at him, welcoming him back from his mission with a hand on his shoulder.

 

The Chinese boy was a newer member and a fantastic one at that. He tried not to play favorites when it came to choosing someone to help him with his work, but Yuuri always preferred to ask him first. Phichit had found him while he was scouting colleges in the region, and how someone as smart as this kid agreed to whatever craziness was used to coerce him into joining was beyond him.

 

The most important detail, though, is that Guang-Hong is in medical school. He’d always wanted to be a doctor, he told them. There was a significant lack of injury within the group, but anyone sporting a paper cut would be properly disinfected and bandaged on the spot. It felt nice to be looked after, though.

 

The aforementioned medical student goes to bend down next to Phichit, his gaze becoming serious as he looks over Yuri. The small audience that had formed in the living room is beginning to disband, Georgi turning to leave and Phichit hopping up to follow him, most likely to the kitchen. Yuuri is too deeply invested in the well-being of this survivor to tear his eyes from the scene, and Leo is most likely staying out of curiosity, or for Guang-Hong. Maybe both. They had something going on that the older man would rather not ask questions about. 

 

A few peaceful moments of examination pass before the examiner stands and purses his lips 

 

“Well, He’s suffered a lot of external damage.” The statement is almost laughable. Isn’t that much obvious? 

 

“I can’t tell what’s going on inside from just looking at him, but his nose is definitely broken, and he’s missing one of his canine teeth.” 

 

Yuuri knew these things already, but it felt so final coming from someone else. Even if it was just a broken nose. He sighs, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back and pushing up his glasses simultaneously. Leo fiddles with his hair as well, twisting the ends of it in between his fingertips. The mood in the room is calm, but he can feel the sinister undertones lurking under the seemingly undisturbed surface. 

“Leo? Could you step out for a moment, please?”

 

The man in question nods solemnly and looks for a moment like he wants to say something, but instead simply raises his hand a little in a wave. Guang-Hong watches him go with a fond gaze before turning back to the couch.

 

“What is it?” Yuuri leans in, his frown deepening. A sense of dread begins to engulf him like a wave of cold water. He can feel his stomach turn with nausea and the tight sensation in his throat makes it hard to breathe. He tries to tame his rampant emotions by assuring himself that it's natural to care about someone you’ve just saved. A minor, no less.

 

“I didn’t want to say it in front of everyone,” The younger man takes a slow breath, “I don’t know if there’s internal damage, but it’s obvious he hasn’t just been beaten up.” He looks anywhere but into Yuuri’s mahogany eyes, the old carpet suddenly much more interesting. The other urges him to go on, nodding. 

 

“He’s been starved, definitely, and well-” He trails off, his voice just above a whisper.

 

If the Japanese man was sensitive than Guang-Hong was even more so. He can barely talk about the cause they’re fighting for without becoming distraught, and having to describe what he believes happened to the mere fifteen-year-old must be taxing on his emotions. He has to admit that today’s been tiring for him as well, physically and mentally.

 

“You don’t have to say it. It’s their game, we all know what they do.” 

 

The other cringes at that, shutting his eyes and nodding tightly. That was the purpose of the human trade, after all. They didn’t kidnap these men and women to make them do housework or to use them as punching bags. They strip their victims of their dignity in the worst way possible, violating them in a way from which many never recover. 

 

His stomach lurches suddenly, the glaring fact of Yuri’s age hanging above his head like a sword. He tries to block the wild imagery his brain creates, bringing his other hand up to shield his eyes as if it will block the thoughts in his mind. Guang-Hong must think he’s yawning because he swallows loudly and tells him to get some sleep before scurrying out of the room.

 

He felt unfortunate. He’d been dealt these cards and he had to play them the smartest way he could, but it wasn’t just about what was easiest or what worked the most efficiently anymore. There was no telling how long Yuri’d be out for and he couldn’t just shove the files in his face when he woke. He couldn’t just ask him what they meant and where the man who’d kidnapped and beaten him was.

 

Sitting on the far end of the couch, a little way away from the boy, he reaches out to tenderly brush his fingers over his ankle. The paternal part of him just wants to nurse him back to health and keep him out of harm’s way, but the part of him that’s worked in the organization for years knows he has to get intel out of the boy. It was times like these that he wishes his social knowledge was a little more like Phichit’s. 

 

Rubbing his thumb over a lump on Yuri’s foot in a comforting gesture, he decides all he can do is wait for him to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you so much for your comments and kudos!)


	6. Distrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri wakes up with a mouthful of Russian curse words.

 

Yuuri yawns quietly, stretching his arms above his head. The sensation of his tired, burning muscles stops him short and he leans back into the cushions of the couch, tucking his arms back against his sides. 

 

A few hours had passed since he’d returned and he wasn’t sure what he was waiting around for. It was nearing midnight, the sun had long gone from the sky. All he’d done today was investigate an alleyway and haul a worryingly lightweight teenager out of an old car. He supposes the emotional toll had transformed into something a little more physical. He’d allowed the laziness, though, by dozing on the couch instead of getting together with his group to review the files. Georgi had probably taken that opportunity once he’d fallen asleep. 

 

He sighs, his head rolling to the side to look at Yuri, who’s still as unconscious as he was when he was found. Except-

 

He’s not unconscious anymore.

 

A pair of azure eyes meets a startled pair of chestnut, and the latter’s face goes slack with surprise. He hadn’t expected him to just wake up as if he was rising from a midday nap. For a moment, he looks serene, his eyes unfocused, but his battered face calm. As Yuuri continues to express his shock with a slightly dropped jaw, the other begins to come to. 

 

It starts with those piercing eyes narrowing pointedly at the stranger next to him. Then he begins to try and sit up, his bony, malnourished arms shaking as he scrambles backward to teeter on the arm of the couch. He almost slips, his eyes going wide as his fingers tighten on the bit of fabric he’s managed to secure. 

 

In an attempt to appear non-threatening, the Japanese man remains still other than raising his hands in front of his face in clear surrender. This doesn’t appear to do much. The boy’s face becomes frantic, his lips downturned and his eyes full of what seems to be fear. His eyes dart all around the room in a panic, weighing his options. 

 

Before Yuuri can even call out to him he’s slipped off the couch in an attempt to stand. His legs, bruised and thin, are barely able to support him, and he sways violently before the older man springs off the couch to steady him with two outstretched hands. 

 

And that’s when the shouting starts.

 

He’s got no idea what the words mean, but they’re spat at him with an intensity he didn’t know someone so frail could muster. The boy pushes at Yuuri, desperate to get away from him, and his yelling only becomes louder when the other man tries to stop him from exerting himself. He can decipher a few words from the foreign babble, words he recognizes as Russian expletives. Without knowing what else to do, the stronger man wrestles the struggling, wailing boy back onto the couch, forcing him to sit by holding down his shaking shoulders.  

“Hey! What the hell?!”

 

Someone dashes over to the fighting pair and Yuuri feels grateful for some back-up. At least that’s what he feels  _ before _ the interloper pushes him off of Yuri, causing him to fall back onto the floor. The sudden, vigorous appearance of yet another stranger doesn’t help the boy’s current state of apprehension. He only yells again, this time it sounds like a sentence, like a warning. He stands with a defensive posture as if he truly believes he can defend himself in this state. Or maybe he just feels he has no other option but to fight.

 

Guang-Hong is the one standing between the two, his hands raised in each direction as if he’s fending off wild animals. He snaps his head to stare at the man sitting on the floor, his expression full of stern disappointment. He mouths to Yuuri, obviously trying to keep silent.

 

“ _ You can’t just attack him.” _

 

The man being addressed frowns deeply, reeling back into an offended posture before coming right back, not bothering to be silent as the other had.

 

“He jumped up! He was going to run!”

 

The brunette shakes his head, put off by the other’s disregard of his attempt to keep quiet. He drops his arms, turning away to face Yuri.

 

“It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you.”

 

He says it slowly and emphasizes as he reaches out, extending a hand as if that will make him understand English. 

 

Startling the other two, the boy suddenly drops to his knees and doubles over, crossing his arms over his head to hide his face. He looks as though he’s in the middle of one of those tornado drills they’d practiced in grade school, but his back is akin to something from a horror movie. Angry, crimson stripes run up and down his spine, bruises paint his sickly skin, stretched over the knife-like edges of his bones. The sight makes Guang-Hong look away, casting his eyes to the floor. 

 

Yuuri stands slowly, while the others are distracted, and creeps over to stand next to the boy. His colleague makes eye contact with him only briefly, but the look says, “Don’t make this worse.”

 

He places his hand on Yuri’s shoulder, shaking him gently. The urging does nothing, but the way he’s tensed implies that he expects pain. He thinks that they’re going to hurt him, and instead of continuing to fight, he’d given up and dropped to the ground. The thought makes his throat tighten uncomfortably. He was  _ used to _ this kind of treatment.

 

“We only want to talk to you. We have questions.”

 

He doesn’t expect a response, but the one he gets startles him yet again. This day has been full of surprises.

 

“I know nothing.”

 

So he  _ does  _ know English. Or at least some of it.

 

He must have some sort of grasp on what’s going on because when he raises his head he’s no longer expecting someone to hit him. His elbows leave the floor as he sits up on his ankles, still shaking ever so slightly. 

 

“You were found in someone’s car. Do you know who?”

 

Guang-Hong breaks the momentary silence as he squats down to be eye-level with the other two. Yuri just shakes his head several times, but Yuuri doesn’t know whether this means he doesn’t understand the question or doesn’t know the answer. The brunette restates what he’d said, trying to make it simpler this time, but the boy responds with something that seems wildly out of character for someone so abused.

 

“Shut up.” 

 

He looks like he’s deciding whether to run or punch one of them, but he knows he can’t. He’s cornered, not to mention the state of his legs. Apparently, he’s picked aggression as his first line of defense. Yuuri doesn’t blame him.

 

Guang-Hong tries again, “Please, do you know how you got here?”

 

“I was taken from Moscow. There were others.”

 

He doesn’t look them in the eyes, his arms crossed over his gaunt ribcage. He’s still trembling, and the Japanese man has to resist the urge to get him a blanket from the closet. They still need answers, he has to stay focused. Leaning in cautiously, he goes to help Yuri up, grasping his upper arm with a firm hand. He resists at first, recoiling from the touch like it burns, but he struggles to his feet and takes a deep breath.

 

“I don’t know what you want to know.” 

 

For some reason, Yuuri believes him. He’s made a good case so far. He was being used as barter, why would he know where his captors were? 

 

Guang-Hong seems to feel the same, nodding and taking his other arm to help him back to the couch. The medical student takes this as an opportunity to explain to him, slowly, just how he came to be in this place, and what the organization is about.

 

Yuri looks like he has something to say, but as his legs reposition themselves on the couch, he winces deeply. The bruises and lacerations have only grown more dangerous looking since the struggle, and Yuuri’s blank, contemplating stare turns into one of concern. He must be in a lot of pain. 

 

“Here,” He digs through his pockets for a moment, retrieving a travel bottle of pain medication, “It’s not much, but it should help.”

 

Before he can even remember that the boy will need something to take them with, Yuri’s snatched the bottle, popped the cap, and dry swallowed at least four pills. He shakes his head, swallowing in discomfort, and sighs loudly, relaxing his shoulder. He feels fortunate that he calmed down and took the medication without too much of a fight.

 

“Thank you. If you want to know something. You need files.” 

 

He doesn’t look up at them, but his tone is serious through his thick accent.

 

_ The files. _

 

Guang-Hong nods, “Georgi has them. We’ll look over them in the morning.” 

 

Yuuri tries to protest, but he knows half of the group is asleep already anyways. Not to mention that he’s about to pass out himself. Turning to head to his room, trusting the medical student to look after Yuri, he wishes them goodnight, calling out one more time, 

  
“In the morning, then.”


	7. Files

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group looks over the files and sends Yuuri out on another mission. After dodging a panic attack, he finds himself with an empty hotel room. At least he thought it was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is /really/ long and features two events rather than one. I don't know if you guys like longer or shorter better, feel free to tell me your suggestions.

The sun bursting through his window shades is what finally wakes Yuuri from his restful sleep. He was typically a light sleeper, but yesterday had him exhausted, physically and mentally. He had managed to sleep deeply all through the night. He sits up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes and grasping blindly for his glasses.

 

He rises from bed lazily and heads out of his room and towards the kitchen, intent on getting a cup of coffee to start his day. He’s sure to move quietly through the main room, wary of Yuri who’s back asleep on the couch. He’s wrapped in one of the blankets from the linen closet near the front door and a bandage peeks out from under his mess of blond hair. Guang-Hong must’ve tried to patch him up a little. It surprises Yuuri that he’d allowed that after their struggle. He was definitely distrustful of the two last night, but there was something about him that suggested he still had a fire in his soul, despite all that's been done to him. He was unnaturally resilient.

 

When he enters the kitchen, three of his teammates are already situated. Phichit and Georgi sit across from one another at the table, the former chattering enthusiastically as the latter sips his coffee and stares at him over the brim of his mug. Emil is leaning against the counter, holding a box of cereal in one hand while the other hand digs through it aimlessly.

 

“Why are you eating out of the box?”

 

He looks over at the man clad in baby blue pajamas and raises an eyebrow. The one in question shrugs, shooting him a messy grin before replying.

 

“No one else here eats it. I might as well help myself.”

 

Phichit protests from across the room, but Georgi interrupts him before he can get any further than opening his mouth and sitting up.

 

“Morning, Yuuri.”

 

His accented voice easily drowns out the younger, Thai man’s retorts at Emil, who’s chuckling silently at his effort to call him out on his bad manners. It was a silly argument, no real malice or anger behind the words; it felt almost like a family. He shakes those thoughts from his head briskly, there was no reason to get so sentimental at seven o’clock in the morning.

 

“Let’s look over these.”

 

Georgi waves the file folder in front of himself, obviously prepared for the discussion, and Yuuri nods in agreement as he pours himself a cup of instant coffee. It was about time they read the rest, but where was everyone else?

 

“Leo and Guang-Hong are asleep still,” As if reading his mind, Emil snickers, “Probably together.” He says the last part just loud enough for the others to hear. Phichit laughs in return, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips, but the two older men don’t react. The Russian most likely doesn’t care, and the Japanese man feels it’s absolutely none of his business. This wasn’t an office job, their personal lives coincide with their work here, and if they were happy together then that was that. He hadn’t been speaking badly of them, he was only joking, but Yuuri still doesn’t want to bring it up. He pretends he hadn’t heard it.

 

Emil rounds the table to take a seat at the same time the other man does, the chair creaking noisily as he sits down. Georgi flips the file open and spins it to the two who hadn’t seen the first few pages yet. Their eyes move simultaneously, eagerly taking in the words spilled before them, and as they flip to the second page, they accidentally knock into one another as they try to get closer. Wincing, they instead take turns examining the photo, matching looks of surprise adorning their features.

 

“This is him? Yuri, right?”

 

Yuuri nods, confirming Phichit’s question. The boy was in the other room, sleeping, but none of the men in the kitchen had met him properly yet. Emil reaches out to flip the page again, his elbow propped up to hold his chin in his hand. He looks intrigued at first, but as the four of them begin to read down the page, that curiosity turns into horror.

 

Page three is just a list. A list of names.

 

A list of all the people that those _bastards_ planned on trading like cattle.

 

The youngest of the group just drops his jaw, frozen in a state of disbelief. The others are quiet, but none of them can tell whether they’re shocked as well, or just flooded with silent despair. After a while of working in this type of field, one would assume these figures would become mundane, but much to their chagrin, this was the worst case they’d faced yet. There were over a dozen names, mostly foreigners, and Georgi is the one who reaches out to turn the page again. As if trying to block it from their collective minds.

 

This next piece isn't a sheet that someone sat down and worked on. It’s crumpled and torn like it’s seen a lot of use, and the penmanship varies up and down the surface. It only takes Yuuri a moment to recognize it, despite it being upside down from his side of the table.

 

It’s a letter.

 

He grabs it quickly, accidently stating his position as the leader as he holds it close to his glasses. The words are running together, but they’re not illegible. The first line is a greeting, unsigned, but obviously, from the man they’re after. The second is the addressee's response, an American for sure. Out of all the drabble and the back and forth, the word that catches his eye is, “hotel.”

 

With sudden realization, he tears his eyes from the note and looks to the rest of his group.

 

“This note says where he’s staying.”

 

Emil lunges forwards to take the note from his hands, the table shaking with the sudden weight. He curses and looks up, allowing Phichit to lean in to look as well. He still looks shaken from earlier. Georgi looks last, taking it in a calm fashion as he lays the note back into the file folder. The last few papers seem to be more of the first and second, files on specifics of travel or transport. The file, other than Yuri’s name and this note, was simply a drain on morale. A file of names of the damned.

 

“If it says the name of the hotel he’s at, can’t we catch him?”

 

Phichit’s eyes glitter with a newfound hope as he flattens his palms on the tabletop, but Yuuri shakes his head, frowning as he contemplates.

 

“We can’t go in there without knowing anything else. If I show up uninvited…” He sighs deeply, knowing what’s coming next, “I’m most likely not coming back,”

 

“Doesn’t the note say?” Emil grabs it again, his coffee cup shaking as his arm bumps it gently. The others share a confused glance and look to the brunette expectantly. Just what was he talking about?

 

He turns the note towards the group, his index finger pointing to the very last line of the note, one Yuuri himself had overlooked. The ink is smudged, but he’s able to make it out.

 

_“We can meet tomorrow.”_

 

Earlier in the dialogue, the American and the Russian had been conversing about their meeting place. There were no specifics, but enough to let the group know that it was out of town, somewhere in a more rural area. And if he was guessing correctly, the last line was written yesterday, when Yuri’s ‘trade-off’ had taken place. The silence in the room is deadly before the youngest speaks out again,

 

“That means he’s not there today. His information is unguarded and it’s easy to get into hotel rooms.”

 

Phichit’s fire is back, a determined look flaring behind his eyes. He was more a leader than Yuuri ever could be, in terms of spirit and direction. The thought makes his stomach twist. He tries to ignore it.

 

“Let’s go then.”

 

He hadn’t meant to say that. There was more analyzing that needed to be done, the rest of the team wasn’t even awake yet. That little bud of insecurity, that voice that whispered that he couldn’t ever match the Thai man’s charisma or Leo’s intelligence, or even Emil’s flexible personality, caused him to make a rash decision. He tells himself that if he’s going to lead, he might as well step up. It doesn’t comfort him.

 

The quest to leave the table and get dressed feels like it’s happening in slow motion, the chatter of his teammates sounds like they’re talking through water. Part of him is writhing in excitement at the idea of finally getting hard evidence, but the other part is… cowardly. He doesn’t want to shy away from this opportunity, but was now the right time?

 

Once he's managed to get dressed and make his way back to the main room, the air hitting his face from the front door swinging open sobers him greatly, nipping the parts of his face not covered by his mask. Georgi is the one who leaves the apartment with him, the other's goodbyes muffled by the edges of his hat. He knows the other can feel his discomfort and worry.

 

“You don’t have to go. I’m not incapable.”

 

His voice is stern and low and he stares straight ahead, eyes focused on his car several feet down the road. He always says things like this before Yuuri heads into the field, but the latter has yet to allow him to do anything. He can’t help himself.

 

He feels like a two-headed snake, pulling in two directions and eventually going nowhere. He refuses to allow anyone else to put themselves into danger, mostly because he’ll blame himself. There’s the part of him, that part that had bothered him at the breakfast table, that tells him if he doesn’t take most of the burden, he’ll never truly lead the group. He was the ‘face of justice,’ he wasn’t supposed to doubt himself.

 

Georgi clicks his door open for him at the same time he realizes they’ve made it to the car and he stumbles, the other reaching out to catch his shoulder in an instant. Thank God it was him seeing this weakness and not someone who’d tell the others, like Emil or Phichit.

 

The drive to downtown takes way longer than it should, traffic is out of control, and it stresses Yuuri to the point where he’s on the brink of an attack. This state of mind was dangerous for him. He’d dealt with anxiety from a young age, but now? In front of a teammate and on a mission? He _had_ to hold it together. He steels himself with the thought of finding rooms full of evidence and bringing this man to justice.

 

Long moments pass, and suddenly, the drive comes to an end, Georgi apparently fed up with weaving between taxis and people on their phones. He parks on the side of the road and slams his door when he gets out, and the other scrambles to follow him, his breath catches in his throat. This whole deal felt so… improvised.

 

They weren’t a group that had some sort of control center with monitors and shiny cameras. All of their missions were on the fly, whenever they got ahold of a lead. Still, as he chases the taller man down the sidewalk in the direction of the hotel building, looming overhead like a gravestone, he feels unprepared.

 

A comm. and a pocket knife is shoved into his hands inconspicuously, the other having pulled them out of his coat pockets.

 

“I’ll be in touch. Act like you belong and you will. Top floor, straight to the elevator.”

 

The stern, but calm directions are an obvious implication that the Russian knows exactly how he feels. Phichit was his usual partner, but Georgi definitely knew how to read him like an open book. Not that he was any good at disguising his emotions anyways.

 

He stays at the doors to the apartment and Yuuri pushes inside. He doesn’t look back at his colleague for fear that’ll have an attack, he moves rapidly and with purpose, giving the illusion that he belongs in this hotel. It’s a rather expensive one, with a decorative ceiling and luxurious furnishings, he tries not to let it overwhelm him. The elevator grows closer with every step, and the way he breezes by the desk makes it seem like he knows exactly where he's going, like he’d been checked in.

 

Once he’s inside, he jams the button as hard as he can, leaning on the wall with his head and bundling his coat around himself tightly. He’s not cold at all, but the pressure brings him to reality. The few moments of silent on the ride up give him time to think, he desperately clears his head, taking deep breaths and fingering the pocket knife in his coat pocket.

 

The doors slide open with a mechanical humming sound, and the soft ding over the muzak lets him know he’s arrived. It’s as silent as a graveyard, and as empty as one too. The narrow hallway is almost suffocating, but the golden trim and the expensive carpet under his shoes takes away from that. He studies the grooves of the baseboards as he creeps down the singular hallway.

 

This floor was suites only, rooms with kitchenettes and huge bathrooms. Expensive and high maintenance. Exactly where scum like this Russian man believed he belonged.

 

The only room being occupied happens to be the very last one, the other doors having been unbranded as he’d passed them. The keycard reader on the door is easy to overcome, he flicks open the pocket knife, pressing the narrow blade down into the slot until it starts to bend. With an abrupt jerk of his hand, the keycard reader makes a snapping sound, like plastic being bent too far, and the door creaks as it swings forwards.

 

Yuuri sighs with relief at the lack of sound from inside the room.

 

It really _was_ empty.

 

The room is, well, expensive. A set of tables and chairs is set up near a large window overlooking the city, but the curtains, crimson with golden trim, are drawn shut. A kitchen set up is to his left upon entering a bit further, moving with nothing but absolute stealth in mind. He even holds his breath, a hand clasped over his mouth. A desk is set up on the far right of the room, with exactly what he’s looking for.

 

A computer and a stack of papers.

  
As he makes his way over to them, a sense of focused calm begins to come over him. He sits at the desk, clicking the mouse with a gloved finger. Before he can even begin to examine anything, the calm feeling fades just as easily as it had come. Because in this room, somewhere behind him, someone is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one and the next will be pretty long because my birthday is Monday and I'll be taking a day's break. Thank you!!!


	8. A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is terrified. But all is not as it seems.

Yuuri finds himself unable to move, frozen to the chair in pure horror and disbelief. The presence of someone behind him, lurking in the dimness of the entryway, has his heart pounding out of his chest. The person behind him  _ must _ be able to hear it, the erratic thrumming sound fills his ears and makes it impossible to hear anything else. 

 

He can see a shadow cast in the low light of the lamp on the desk, but it’s unmoving. The thought that the figure is just sitting in wait makes him shiver with trepidation. His grip tightens on the wireless mouse, and in a moment of desperation, he twists in the office chair and chucks it as hard as he can. In his effort, he squeezes his eyes shut, but he can hear them for sure.

 

A hollow thud rings out as the device smacks the other right in between their eyes, and they yell out loudly. The shouts are most definitely from a man and Yuuri springs up from the chair, stumbling as he tries to find his footing. There’s no way he can get out of this without a fight, but he can’t lose, not now.

 

He takes a defensive posture, one arm raised to block his face and the other poised to strike. Before he can focus in on his assailant, the man has lunged forwards clumsily, gripping one of his shoulders so tightly it’ll leave bruises. The impact sends both men reeling backward towards the dining area, and as he reaches back, struggling to find some purchase to steady himself, he makes sudden contact with the table. The sharp edge digs into his lower back at the same time the man’s hand moves from his shoulder to his throat.

 

The searing pain in the small of his back only amplifies the need to take a breath, but now, with a large hand wrapped around his neck, he gasps for air. He brings his hand up from where it’s slack against the table and seizes the man’s wrist in his grip, squeezing and tugging as frantically as he can. It doesn’t let up, his grip only tightening, and Yuuri’s vision is beginning to blur. The man is nothing but an indistinct smudge of color. 

 

In a last ditch effort to save his life, he brings his other hand up, balled into a taut fist, and makes contact with the man’s stomach. 

 

The grip around his throat suddenly disappears and he slams into the table’s edge again as he takes a step back, desperate to get away from his attacker as he coughs and sputters. Panting heavily, adrenaline rushing through him with each deafening pound of his heart, he tries to run past the man while he’s doubled over. 

 

Just as he begins to think he’s won, a hand closes around his calf with deadly accuracy. He falls face first into the tightly-threaded carpet and his glasses slip off with the forceful contact. His throat burns and his head throbs, but he kicks as hard as he can muster and the heel of his shoe rams into something solid. 

 

A cry of pain fills the room and Yuuri tries to stand back up, shaking and gasping. His vision looks like it had when he was being strangled, a messy blur.

Determined to finally defeat the man in front of him, he takes a step forward and brings both knees down hard next to the keeled over figure on the carpet. As his attacker had done earlier, he shoots his arm out and closes his hand around the other’s shoulder, pushing him so his back is flat against the floor. The man gasps and chokes, still recovering from the last two blows he had gotten in.

 

Yuuri throws his leg over the man’s midsection and smashes his other hand into the untouched shoulder. He’s now effectively pinned down, straddled by Yuuri’s weight and all of the strength he can manage. Both of the men are out of breath, panting from the struggle. He can’t focus on the man’s features, his glasses thrown far on the other side of the hotel room, but he can make out the thin lines of his lips as he begins to speak.

 

“W-who?!-”

 

Whatever the man was going to say, it’s lost when Yuuri interrupts him, his voice high with tension.

 

“Be quiet!” He raises his hands up slightly just to slam them back down on his shoulders, making the man jolt back into the floor and snap his mouth shut. 

 

Was this  _ him? _

 

It was too hard for Yuuri to tell, the man’s face a pale blur. Spilled against the carpet is a head of silvery hair, and coincidentally enough, the culprit was a man over fifty.

 

But could a man over fifty put up such a fight?

 

Suddenly, the man pushes up with his hips, which were flat on the floor, and causes his entire body to slam upwards into the one pinning him down. The force sends Yuuri reeling back, falling over and off of the man, but unintentionally putting him closer to where his glasses lay. He can make out their familiar outline, sitting near one of the legs of the desk. He crawls nearer, using his elbows to push himself closer. As he reaches for them, the man grabs his ankle on the other side of the room and tugs violently.

 

He’s able to wrap his fingers around the rim right as he’s jerked backward, and he slips them onto his face. They dangle precariously, hanging on only one of his ears. He’d missed the other one, too preoccupied with struggling to free his foot from the man.

 

As he looks up, an unsettling sight comes into his now crystal clear view.

 

The man was definitely  _ not _ over fifty. His hair is silvery and unkempt, but his skin is smooth and clear. As he grapples at Yuuri’s feet, they make eye contact. His eyes are bright blue and unclouded, filled with panic. 

 

A slight miscalculation causes the man to lose his grip and it gives the other a short amount of time to pull his legs towards his body, just out of reach. 

 

The moment of stillness, neither of the men making a move to lash out again, allows them to assess one another. They both had plunged into the fight, ready to defend themselves, but it seemed that they both assumed the one they attacked was someone else. The man seems to have realized this already, panting heavily and narrowing his cerulean eyes at the man lying on the floor in front of him. 

 

“W-who  _ are _ you?”

 

His voice is accented similarly to Georgi’s, understandable, but obviously foreign. What sets him apart is how soft that voice is. The way he delivers the question is harsh and demanding, but the overall tone of his words, his speaking voice, is honeylike. 

 

“No,” Yuuri sits up, his head throbbing with the effort, “You f-first.” He might’ve broken in, but he wasn’t the one who jumped across the room to fight. He tries to disregard that he first chucked a mouse at the other man.

 

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, pain is beginning to set in. His head aches and his back feels as though he’s been lifting sacks of flour all day. His throat stings with every breath, the skin on his neck feels swollen. 

 

“Victor,” He coughs and his whole body shudders, “Victor Nikiforov.”

 

The man, Victor, looks up through his bangs, his breathing beginning to slow. The side of his chin is red but other than that he looks no worse for wear, and the gaze he casts isn’t one of malice or anger. After such an intense struggle, Yuuri would’ve expected more venom. He looks afraid if nothing else.

 

Struggling to his feet, the Japanese man fixes his glasses with a shaky hand. 

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Victor looks taken aback at that question, his face contorting in uncertainty. He coughs into his hand again, his shoulders heave with the effort. He tries to answer, but his voice falters before he gets very far. 

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

His bangs fall out of his eyes as he tilts his head up to make eye contact, seeming to be against the idea of standing up. Does he really not get the question?

 

“Why are you in this hotel room? Do you have something to do with the Russian trafficking ring?”

 

Yuuri restates with a stern voice, shifting uncomfortably in his sweaty winter jacket. He wants to grab the computer off of the desk and split, but he knows that he can’t. He has to know who this man is. 

 

“I just work... “ He cuts himself off again, but he doesn’t cough. He doesn't want to finish.

 

“For who?” He pulls at the collar of his shirt underneath his jacket, he was hot inside of his layers now and the sweat from the exertion of fighting wasn’t helping.

 

“He runs the ring you mentioned. He brought me over from St. Petersburg. I just… Work for him.” 

 

_ Oh. _

 

The realization sets in slowly. Victor is sitting on the floor, near the dining table, in nothing but a dark bathrobe. He’s lean, but not malnourished, and his face is full and lively. His position in this scheme makes itself apparent through those few clues.

 

He was a plaything. A toy.

 

It was common for the criminals to pick favorites, and often they took the favorite under their wing. They were fed and taken care of, they slept in comfortable places and went with their leader wherever he went. But not without a price. The ones who were chosen were used, kept around like items for pleasure and stored away when they weren’t in use.

 

In Yuuri’s mind, this ‘job’ is just about as worse as being one of the enslaved prisoners, like Yuri had been.

 

“I’m with an organization that,” He hesitates, teetering on the brink of making a rash decision, “helps people in your situation.” 

 

He wasn’t sure what to do now. He couldn’t lie to the man outright, he was an honest person, but was it the right choice to take him? The moral compass inside of him screams that it is, that to leave him here with whatever aged criminal is using him equates the same as if he’d left Yuri in the trunk of that car. The rational voice in his head is cowardly, but he knows if he takes a computer and a living, breathing human being, the leader of the ring will know someone is after them. 

 

Then what? Would they skip town, causing their entire group to change headquarters just to catch them? Or would they begin hunting them, and if they found them, what would they do?

 

As he concentrates, trying to decide what to do and what to say, he’s startled by two things at once.

 

His comm buzzes to life in his jacket pocket, Georgi’s voice clear through the static, just as Victor begins to speak. 

 

A wave of anxiety passes over him as he reaches to answer the comm.

 

“Georgi?” 

 

The other’s voice is hushed, urgent. Victor looks up in curiosity of being interrupted before bracing himself on a chair to begin to stand.

 

“You need to hurry. I saw someone, I think it’s  _ him _ .” 

 

Before Yuuri can even react or respond, the silver-haired man, who, at his full height, is much taller than the other, begins to panic. He knows exactly what the man over the comm means by ‘ _ him _ ’, and he’s proving all of the theories about his treatment right as his face becomes stricken with fear.

 

“Please!” He turns to the smaller man, “Help me!” 

 

Blue eyes are stretched wide, the edges brimming with sudden tears. He can no longer debate with himself about the matter. After that helpless plea, coming from a man who’s been locked up and used, he can’t even try and think about leaving him. He bears a compassion that outweighs his rationality, and it doesn’t always lead to the smartest choices. It’s too late to turn back.

 

With the threat of the man returning, he turns quickly to Victor, a grave seriousness clouding his eyes.

 

“Give me anything that you can find, anything with information on that man.”

 

He nods sporadically, dashing to his right and almost smashing into the desk. His long, slender fingers tangle the cords on the computer and he unplugs it from the wall, and he snatches a few pieces of paper from the furthest side of the desk, ignoring the ones by the computer. He doesn’t have time to investigate himself, he’ll have to trust this total stranger to get what he needs the most.

 

Yuuri doesn’t know if it’s good or bad luck to stumble across two Russian victims in the same week. On one hand, they know enough to give the team leads for months, but on the other, it was dangerous for people to start disappearing. If it went too far and they were noticed….

 

“Come on. Hurry.”

 

It’s Georgi again,  and he doesn’t even sound like he meant to call. He’s almost whispering, his voice low and slightly fearful.

 

There’s no time to straighten the hotel room out. The chairs are in disarray and the desk is almost wiped clean, not to mention that an entire human being will be missing. Yuuri just has to trust that the ring has no idea that an organization was after them. It was common for two different rings to have conflict and abduct one another’s victims and steal their information. Hope is all he has right now.

 

Victor pushes a bundle of papers and the computer into his arms, his bare feet thudding against the floor. It will look strange, a barefoot, robed man running through the lobby, but he had no other choice. 

 

“We take the stairs.”

 

Yuuri takes the lead, pushing out of the room with a brisk pace. The other stumbles behind him, wincing when he missteps. The sound reminds the smaller man of his own pain; his throbbing head, aching throat, and sore back, but he presses on, jamming his shoulder into the stairwell door. 

 

It was several flights, but nothing he hasn’t done before. Victor seems fine, making the occasional worried sound behind him. Something inside of him urges him to strike up a conversation, to speak to him and hear more of that saccharine voice, but he shakes the temptation away. They were technically running for their lives, this wasn’t a time for chatter. What was going on in his head to even try and think that?

 

They exit the stairwell, panting once again and trying to avoid the strange looks they get as they speed-walk through the crowd in the lobby. Victor looks like he's been freed from a literal cage, his eyes wide and hopeful. This was tough, but this wasn’t the hard part.

 

The hardest part of all, to Yuuri, was the speed at which this day had occurred. He had woken up, expecting an average day, and was presented with a lead that gave him a limited window of time to secure intel. If he had been able to run in and then run out, files on hand, then maybe he wouldn’t be on the brink of an attack as he maneuvers through a lobby. He had been given the scare of his life and then had to fight, only for it all to come to a screeching halt with the news that the real culprit was returning to his room. If he had had just a bit more time in that room…

 

Georgi calls to him in the doorway, and Yuuri’s never been happier to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little bit of a plot twist, but I hope this story is moving in a direction that makes it interesting. I plan on having plenty of action down the line :P
> 
> I'll be back on Tuesday! Thanks for reading!


	9. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two friends have a late-night talk.

Yuuri lifts his cup to his lips, exhaling gently against the steam that comes from the coffee inside. The sky is dark, painted cool shades of blue. He leans against the wall just outside of the front door, looking casual and relaxed. If only his mind was as free from tension as his body looked, that’d make his night a whole lot easier. 

 

The morning had been, to say the least, quite a trip. Once he’d come out of the building, Victor on his heels, Georgi had been unpleasantly surprised. This was the second stranger he’d had to drive to the Headquarters within forty-eight hours, but he’d handled it with a sense of maturity. Yuuri could tell he’d wanted to say something or ask a question but he hadn’t spoken a single word to the newcomer.

 

Victor hadn’t said anything either, he was awkwardly quiet during the drive back, which, thankfully, was a lot shorter than it had been when they’d arrived. Traffic had thinned out significantly. When they returned, it was afternoon, and everyone was alert and awake. It just made introducing him a whole lot more unpleasant.

 

There were mixed reactions. For the most part, everyone was comfortable with yet another victim shacking up with them, seeking refuge from his past. Leo had even pulled Yuuri aside to ask about the computer, and, being the tech guy, he’d taken it with the promise of looking through the files. The only one who’d reacted negatively was Yuri, but he’d expected that. He’d heard via a tired Guang-Hong that the boy had spent the entire day locked in the bathroom, he’d never come out to greet anyone, let alone Victor.

 

He, himself, still felt strange, disconnected, like he was doing something terribly wrong but couldn’t figure out what. Every time he felt like he was getting close to an answer, it’d slip right through his fingers. He still had a headache, and if anything, it hurt more now. The coffee wasn’t helping, considering it was eleven o’clock at night.

 

“You’re never gonna sleep now.”

 

He turns his head quickly, startled by the voice. Phichit stands in the entrance to the apartment, his head tilted and a warm smile crossing his face. His eyes are as sparkling as ever, and his words are simply playful, but Yuuri knows he’s right. He hadn’t even heard the door open. Was he losing his edge?

 

“Who cares?”

 

He takes another sip as if to prove to his friend that he’s serious, and the other moves closer, coming to stand next to him. It’s pitch outside, except for the single street light a couple yards away. The lamp is yellowing, casting an amber glow onto their faces. Their shadows stretch down the cracked sidewalk and he chooses to focus on a stray weed growing up through the cement, rather than the man next to him.

 

“What’s bugging you, Yuuri?” Phichit cocks his head in question, his gentle smile curving down into a sulky frown. He’s such a sociable person, he reads his friend like an open book. His face clouds with concern as he reaches out to place a hand on the other's shoulder. He wasn’t a particularly enthusiastic individual, but Yuuri wasn’t usually like this. He didn’t say things like that, nor did he carelessly disregard his own well-being by forcing himself to stay up all night.

 

“I don’t-” He coughs, his cup shaking and almost tipping at the abrupt tremors, “I don’t know.”

 

The younger man just sighs beside him, tugging a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. He really _didn’t_ know, and he didn’t want his friend to think he was just lying or trying to be self-destructive. If he truly thinks about it in a rational light, it all leads up to the events that happened over that last two days, but he doesn’t want to admit it to Phichit. He’s supposed to be the strong leader.

 

The mission had been going fine, and even  _ after  _ he found Yuri, things we’re still going to be alright. The idiot American dealer would just think he’d gotten away, or that a competitor in the trafficking ring had stolen from him, but what happened today was not so easily disguised.

 

He’d broken into the  _ leader’s  _ hotel room, stolen his files, computer, and a living human. There was no way this would go unnoticed by the rest of the ring. Best case scenario, the dealers fight amongst themselves and blame each other for the missing persons and items. Worst case, they know exactly who’s after them and come to the headquarters to kill everyone.

 

Well… He was probably over exaggerating, but it doesn’t make him feel any better knowing that he's blowing everything out of proportion. Phichit is still staring at him, his eyes practically boring holes into the side of Yuuri’s face. He wants to tell him to just go inside, to leave him alone, but the other’s comforting hand on his shoulder and his calm concern make him feel like he’s got some sort of place in the world. 

 

He’s been too sentimental, lately.

 

“I’m just,” He falters off, trying not to picture the face of disappointment his friend will wear once he finishes, “I’m afraid, alright?”

 

The face the other makes is nothing like what he expected. He looks mildly surprised at first as if that wasn't what he had thought he’d say, but he doesn’t look judgemental or upset. His eyebrows furrow for a second before he responds.

 

“Of what? We’re safe here.”

 

Yuuri laughs, a cold, humorless sound, and he sighs afterward. Running his fingers through his untamed hair, he turns to look his friend in the eyes, a dull seriousness encompassing his demeanor.

 

“We’ll be lucky if they don’t show up to kick our door down. We’ve taken two human beings within two days.”

 

Phichit shakes his head, squeezing the other’s shoulder tightly between his fingers. A fire burns behind his eyes as it always does before he says something stupidly optimistic. The thought makes him angry at himself, he should envy his friend for his positivity and his social skills, but he just wants to sulk right now. He's wrought with guilt at the thought that he's compromised the entire organization. 

 

“We’ll be fine. They’re not  _ that _ intelligent.”

 

Part of Yuuri agrees wholeheartedly, the part that shares his friend’s determination and enthusiasm. But the part of him that has a grip on him right now, the part that tells him that only the worst case scenario could possibly come out of this, makes his throat tighten and his stomach twist. Regardless of their intelligence, he, as a leader, should’ve considered these possible repercussions. His entire team, all his  _ friends _ , were at risk because of him. But what should he have done otherwise? Left Yuri in the car? Told Victor he was leaving without him?

 

“Stop it.” Phichit’s grip tightens and he steps in front of Yuuri, forcing eye contact. “Stop overthinking this.” His other hand comes up so he’s holding both shoulders so tight it hurts, and he shakes his friend lightly as if trying to snap him out of a trance. “You can’t blame yourself if something happens. It’s your job to get intel and you couldn’t have left those two.”

 

The older man stumbles backward, out of the other’s grasp, until his back hits the concrete wall. He slides down it until he’s sitting, his face buried in his bent knees. He doesn’t know if should laugh or cry, or just stay silent. They were at risk, weren’t they? Was he really overthinking it  _ this  _ badly?

 

“I know that’s what’s got you so upset.” Phichit sits down next to him, wrapping an arm easily around his shoulders and pulling himself close. He was right, as usual. He felt terrible for letting hsi best friend see him like this, so weak and vulnerable. But how was he supposed to just act naturally or hide his emotions after the last two days and the sudden realization that he’d put all his friends at risk over the past forty-eight hours?

 

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” He smiles lopsidedly, the grin showing the white of his teeth, and he uses the hand around Yuuri’s shoulders to touch the other’s cheek, making him turn his head to see the reassuring smile. “You did the right thing, saving them. The new guy looks eager to help.” He laughs quietly.

 

He suppresses a chuckle as well, knowing how excited Phichit was about adding new members to the cause. “Yea,” He sniffs a little bit, trying to tame his emotion, “They’re both strong people.”

 

The other nods, his smile only growing. “And so are you.” 

 

He squeezes Yuuri in a side hug, bumping their knees together in a playful gesture.

 

He doesn’t feel strong, all his weakness laid out before someone he was supposed to be leading. He knows it isn’t right to suppress himself, to bottle up his emotion, but sometimes he can’t help it. Coming outside with coffee an hour before midnight was just how he decided to cope tonight. He tilts his head to rest it against the wall, looking up at the blackened night sky, Phichit does the same, yawning quietly and taking Yuuri’s empty cup from the sidewalk.

 

“No more coffee before bedtime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start updating every other day from now on. Hopefully, it'll increase the quality of my writing to have more planning and drafting time :)


	10. Emails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After working all night, Leo has something to show for it.
> 
> Alternatively titled: Victor Nikiforov loves to talk.

Mornings were never Yuuri’s favorite part of the day, but the state of fatigue he’s in just amplifies his disdain. The caffeine had done exactly what it was meant to do. He hadn’t slept at all last night. When he’d drug himself out of bed, he’d expected to be greeted with a mouthful of “I told you so,” from Phichit, but his friend hadn’t even woken up yet. Lucky him.

 

Shifting at the kitchen table, he lays his head down on his arms, the cold tabletop stinging his bare skin. He’s sure he looks like hell. He hadn’t even seen a hairbrush in days, not to mention that his hair was growing a bit longer than he usually kept it. His eyes were unfocused and ringed with dark circles. If he could just sleep a little-

 

“Hey, can we talk for a second?”

 

Yuuri almost,  _ almost  _ loses his composure and snaps at the figure standing in the entryway to the kitchen, but he’s able to curve his irritation with curiosity. Recalling the tone, he knows it’s Leo now. He moves his head so he’s looking at the man who addressed him, not bothering to sit up, he nods and answers with a lazy tone.

 

“Yea, go ahead.”

 

The other crosses the short distance to the table and takes the seat directly to his right. He decides that he’s going to keep his head down for as long as this talk will allow, but the American shakes his shoulder a little to get his attention. Sitting up, he blinks sleepily and takes in a deep breath. Leo looks just as tired, bearing the same dark circles and clouded eyes. He seems to be in better spirits despite this and, looking at what he’s holding in his arms, it’s obvious he was up all night actually putting his intellect to use. While Yuuri had been drowning himself in worry and caffeine.

 

As he gets situated, he puts down what he was carrying; the computer. He turns to the other as if he expects him to have something to say, but he really doesn’t. The only thing on his mind is what the tech-savvy nineteen-year-old found that was interesting enough to keep him from dozing on the kitchen table. Obviously, there was something, there had to be. This was the computer of the man they’d been chasing for months! He should be more excited than this, but he was being pessimistic, that was his trademark, after all. 

 

“So,” Leo opens the laptop, it’s blank screen flickering to life with the motion, “I found some interesting stuff, obviously.” He clicks the built-in mouse, and Yuuri briefly recalls the wireless one he tossed at Victor. He wonders if he’s got a bruise now; he’s yet to see him, considering the first thing the frazzled man did was fall asleep on the extra cot in Georgi’s room. He couldn’t stay on the couch, that was where Yuri was staying.

 

A barrage of tabs flash across the screen, but the one that comes clearly into focus is an email archive.

 

“This, though,” He nods his head in a gesture to the computer, “Is an entire heaven of locations, times, and names.”

 

A bolt of true interest lights in his chest, and he leans forward to study the words more clearly. Sure enough, it’s a document full of copied emails, everything they could ever want. Right there in front of them. It seemed too good to be true, really. Had it  _ really _ been so easy to just walk in and take this? Of course, the stress had exhausted him and the anxiety-inducing worry was eating away at him, but the actual event of  _ taking _ the computer and files? It had been a breeze.

 

The thrill of seeing all this data is nothing compared to the sick dread twisting his stomach.

 

“We should be careful,” Leo acknowledges the grimace on Yuuri’s face, “But I think we should consider checking this out."

 

Alarm bells go off in his head, screaming at him to defend his own well-being and sanity, as well as the entire team's safety that hangs in the balance.

 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

It comes out a whole lot nastier than he meant it to, and he tries to shake it off. He couldn’t let his soft side win out this time. Another day like the past two would kill him.

 

The American cocks his head, clearly taken aback and confused at the snap in his tone. He was  _ tired _ , emotionally and physically. They both were.

 

“Sorry. I just,” He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose just below his glasses, “I can’t take anything like the last couple of days.”

 

Leo doesn’t understand. He’s a bit like Phichit in the sense that he’s optimistic about their predicament. He feels more like they’ve earned two members with inside knowledge rather than two men who are completely capable of being tracked down by people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill everyone inside. Especially if they knew just what this organization was about. 

 

“Of course not,” He smiles in an understanding manner, his tired eyes trying to focus, “This is something that’s gonna take real planning. We can’t just show up at one of their drop-spots because there’s no telling when it’ll be empty.”

 

He stands slowly, leaving the computer for Yuuri to look over, and stretches upwards. His shirt rides up on his stomach and he pulls it back down with clutched fingers. Suddenly looking a bit unsettled, he looks as if he's trying to decide if he should say something or not. What he eventually decides to say is not what the older man expected at all. The situation goes from business to a conversation between friends in a mere second.

 

“Can I tell you something,” He stammers a little, a light pink dusting his face, “Personal?”

 

The abrupt change of mood and topic has him a bit confused but he nods for the other to continue. He was a bit snappy with Leo, but he isn’t going to turn him away if he has something to say, especially if it’s bothering him this much.

 

He rocks on his heels, peeking out of the kitchen quickly to see if anyone is coming, and then steps a bit closer to the other. He struggles for a moment, unsure of what to say, but Yuuri tries to stay attentive despite his fatigue, encouraging him to spit it out.

 

“Guang-Hong and I,” He trails off, his eyes downcast. He looks dejected, like he expects a negative reaction, “We’re- uhm…” He bites his lips and brings a hand to cup the back of his neck.

 

“You don’t have to explain it to me.” He waves a hand in dismissal. Why would he care what everyone else thought of his relationship if he was happy with it? The thought that he wants approval, that he wants the  _ leader’s _ approval, causes a small boost of confidence that makes his lips tug up in a grin. “As long as you two are happy. This is where we live, too, not just work.”

 

Leo’s face shifts from despondency, to shock, and finally to relief, smiling to match Yuuri. 

 

“Thanks.” He says it like he means it, and Leo is a man of honesty. He turns on his heels, peering back over his shoulder. “I’ll go and tell everyone else, I think.”

 

The older man isn’t sure whether he’s talking about the leads on their most-wanted or his relationship, but in the moment it all feels the same. Alone again, he rests his head back on his arms and yawns- Only to be interrupted.  _ Again. _

 

“Good morning!”

 

The voice is much too cheerful to be anyone other than Phichit, but that’s the problem- It’s definitely  _ not _ Phichit.

 

The voice is accented and a bit unfamiliar, it’s Victor.

 

He lifts his head back up, frowning drowsily. The man stands in the entrance, still in the olive-colored robe he’d been wearing yesterday. His silvery hair is tamer now, brushed back by a comb, and his eyes sparkle as if he was completely normal and happy. This man just gets more and more confusing. It intrigues Yuuri so much that it scares him.

 

He must have come in just as Leo had left, and solely with the intention of saying hello to the half-asleep man at the table. He does nothing but stands there, waiting for a response or a reaction- or something.

 

“Uh, hey.” He hadn’t meant to sound so uninterested, but his drooping eyelids keep him from being a decent listener. He tries his hardest to focus, but the effort has him slumped down in his chair, coughing quietly.

 

“Are you well?” Victor frowns and steps closer, leaning in and coming uncomfortably close to Yuuri’s face. He can feel the other man’s breath for a moment, but his lidded eyes keep him from looking into the other’s deep shades of blue. He’s thankful for that, at least. Those eyes make him feel strange; like he can't look away. 

 

“Here.” He moves away suddenly, stumbling further into the kitchen and beginning to rummage through the cabinets. The tired man watches him lazily, wondering just what the hell he’s looking for. Once he opens an overhead cabinet, where they keep the plastic cups, he brightens, pulling one from the shelf carefully. As he begins to fill it with tap water, he looks back over his shoulder.

 

“Where are you from?”

 

Wow. That’s such a candid question, something that someone would ask him in the grocery store or in a cab, not something a man he rescued from human trafficking would say. Victor looks at him expectantly as he sets the cup down in front of the coughing man.

 

Clearing his throat, he responds as confidently as he can manage, “I was born in Japan. I moved to Detroit about five years ago, for school.” He lifts the cup to his lips, grateful for the drink.

 

The other nods enthusiastically as if it’s the most exciting fact he's ever heard. He pulls a chair out and sits in a gesture that says, “Tell me more.” But he’s not sure what else to say. Talking about himself isn’t his most comfortable subject. Noticing the silence, the taller man fills it with the facts he already knows.

 

“Yesterday you didn’t tell me your name. I had to ask your friend.”

 

He continues when Yuuri doesn’t respond, this time about himself.

 

“I’m from St. Petersburg,” His accent throws off his words, he struggles with his English for a moment, “I’m twenty-seven.”

 

As much as he wants to learn more, he doesn’t want to play twenty questions right now. He’s practically asleep and it’s making him look like an asshole. He curses himself for that coffee.

 

“Yea?” He manages, “I’ve heard it’s nice there.”

 

“Yes!” Victor claps once in excitement, but his bright exterior suddenly droops a little, “I miss home a lot.”

  
Yuuri looks up, letting the sudden tone change from curious and positive to melancholy, but before he can try to give hope or tell Victor that they’ll try to get him home, a loud crash echoes out from the main room, startling them both.


	11. Motorcyclist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group encounters a rather strange individual in the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late with this, sorry. I've been having money/family issues and it's tough to deal with. I'm writing this because it's something I promised myself I'd finish once I started it.

Yuuri starts at the sudden cacophony of noises from the living room. The collaboration of yells, furniture crashing, and feet thudding on the floor grates at his ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. It was only noon, he wonders what could be going on so early. 

 

A jolt of realization spears him right through the chest as he stumbles to his feet, his breath catching in his throat. The events of the past few days had been more than enough to send their enemies after them, but was it really possible for them to attack the base directly? And so soon after the incident?

 

Victor dashes out of the room before he can get his head to stop spinning, vision blurring around the edges at the sudden rush from moving so quickly. He nearly collides with the frame of the doorway on his way out of the kitchen, still completely disoriented from not having slept a single wink. His legs tangle together when he missteps, his body continuing forward towards the floor below him, but before he falls, someone’s arm catches his shoulder.

 

Pulling him up with a steady, pale hand is Victor, but his actions seemed to be of mere reflex because he’s not even remotely looking in Yuuri’s direction. Instead, he’s staring ahead at the scene in the living room, face twisted with confusion and bewilderment. 

 

Yuri has, apparently, come out of the bathroom, but it doesn’t seem like he’s here to make friends. His eyes are reminiscent of when he’d fought with them after waking up from his unconscious daze, narrowed and full of fire, and he’s taken on a defensive stance, hands raised in front of his chest. Standing directly in front of the furious boy is Guang-Hong, now recognizable as the one who’d been yelling, his face flushed with the effort of the obvious struggle.

 

The couch is knocked out of place as if someone had pushed it as hard as they could muster. The end table, thankfully empty, is on its side on the floor. It seemed, to Yuuri, that the understandably distrustful boy had run from the bathroom, and tried to go right by the couch to the front door. In his haste he’d knocked over the end table and alerted Guang-Hong, who’d realized his escape attempt and tackled him, causing more destruction to the living room.

 

Suddenly faced with the presence of two more people he doesn’t know or have faith in, Yuri only looks more determined to defend himself, as if he thinks someone’s going to suddenly throw a punch. They can’t let him go running through the streets, he has to stay, for his and the organization’s safety, but this wasn’t a prison either. They were going to have to win his trust, not hold him hostage, and he’d have to trust them in return.

 

He shouts suddenly, almost tripping over the rug in front of the entrance door, his bare feet skidding on the laminate flooring. A few of his words are in Russian, and this grabs Victor’s attention for obvious reasons. He had known that someone else they’d rescued had been inside, and he’d been mildly hurt by the notion that Yuri wanted  _ nothing _ to do with him. Or any of them for that matter.

The silver-haired man reaches out with stretched fingers as if he wants to shake hands, but he doesn’t move closer. He says something in Russian, calm and collected, but his eyes shine with intrigue and excitement. This must be reminding him of his home, Yuuri suspects. 

 

The fifteen-year-old looks at the older man with skeptical eyes, answering him in an uneven, exhausted tone. Victor speaks again, but whatever it is he’s said just agitates the boy more and he lurches backward, his feet kicking up the rug as his hand flies to the door knob. At first, he simply uses it to steady himself, but once he realizes the opportunity tripping has presented to him, he takes it. 

 

Guang-Hong calls out in an exasperated cry, reaching forwards to grab at the boy’s shoulders, but it’s too late. He’s already slipped out through the small opening he’d created, and as the door flings open the rest of the way, his figure is already to the edge of the sidewalk, as if he’s afraid to cross the road.

 

Yuuri is right beside Guang-Hong before he knows what he’s doing, racing out the door. The adrenaline from this unexpected circumstance has his heart pumping and his mind clear and free of sleep. They had to keep him from getting away and endangering not only himself but the ones who’d saved him as well. Not to mention he was  _ abducted _ from Russia, he couldn’t just take to the streets of Detroit.

 

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the sidewalk, his bare feet curled slightly on the pavement. He looks over his shoulder, his matted, blond hair swinging wildly as he realizes he’s being chased. Hopping down from safety, right into the road, he turns to face them and backs away as if he thinks they can’t follow him. As if the asphalt is a substance only he can cross.

 

The others seem to be waking up because Yuuri can hear Phichit somewhere behind him, but he’s barely focusing. Guang-Hong, right beside him, grabs his arm and drags him forwards to stand on the curb where the boy had just been. The other man sounds like he’s whispering as he yells across the street to Yuri. He has no idea of what he should be doing in this situation. Should he yell as well? Or try to remain calm?  The rush of ‘I don’t know what to do’ that he feels is overpowering. 

 

Before he can try to calm himself and decide how to get the boy back inside, the noise of an engine steals him out of his thoughts. Despite living in a quiet area on the outskirts of the large city, there were still people commuting all day long. Cars weren’t uncommon. The problem is that over the team shouting and fretting, and over his own fear and confusion, Yuri can’t hear it coming.

 

Knowing that he’s only got a few seconds to take action, Yuuri steps down the curb and moves as quickly as his aching legs will allow. He charges at the younger boy, gripping him fiercely by the shoulders. He doesn’t want to terrify him or make him hate them all, but he can’t let him get loose in a country he’s never been to, and he certainly can’t allow him to be hit by a car. Unsurprisingly, he puts up a fight, pushing on the other’s chest as hard as he can and yelling his lungs out. He raises a leg to kick or knee the older man, but before he gets a chance, the sound of squealing brakes causes them to spring apart and turn to the road before them.

 

A motorcycle is swerved slightly to the right, It’s rider standing with a leg on either side. He’s wearing a helmet that has a visor but they don't' have to see his face to feel that he simply emanates irritation at being stopped by a quarrel in the middle of the road.

 

Yuuri looks across the road, back at his group, to see them all frozen in mixed looks of horror and shock. Guang-Hong and Phichit are gripping one another’s arms, standing on the curb and looking so frightened it would appear that _they_ were the one’s almost hit by a motorcyclist. Leo and Victor are closer to the door. The American doesn’t seem to get what’s happening just yet, but the Russian’s hands are placed over his mouth in a worrisome gesture.

 

“Hey,” The man leans forward as if he’s studying the men in front of him, “What the hell are you doing?”

 

Yuuri was sure they looked like a freak-show. 

 

There were six of them total, all having poured out of a seemingly empty apartment building. Most of them were wearing night-clothing still, and two of them had been wrestling in the middle of the road and yelling as loudly as they could. God, this man probably thought they were all on drugs.

 

All he’d wanted was one, uneventful, calm day.

 

“Sorry,” He nods in apology and reaches to grip Yuri’s shoulder as sternly as he can manage, making sure he knows that they're going back inside. No questions asked.

 

He plans on getting out of the road and letting the man pass, but he doesn’t seem to have the same idea. He lifts one of his legs over the bike and lets it stand on its own, slowly approaching the two. His stature isn’t too intimidating, but the helmet gives the illusion that he’s a force to be reckoned with. He stops a few feet from the two, lifting his hands to raise it off of his head.

 

The man has an angular, chiseled face, a messy undercut, and unrelenting, staring eyes. He doesn’t look away or even blink, and Yuuri tugs gently on Yuri’s shoulder to try and get him to start moving. Suddenly the man extends a hand, balancing his helmet on his hip with his other arm.

 

“I’m Otabek Altin,” He has to wait a moment for the startled, fatigued man before him to respond, awkwardly fumbling for his hand.

“Uhm, I’m Yuuri” He coughs and looks to the boy beside him and then to his teammates on the other side of the street, “And this is...Yuri.” 

 

He curses himself for how foolish that sounded, but he knows that their first impression has long flown out the window. Yuri looks stricken, his eyes slightly widened as he looks over the man in front of them like he’s some sort of golden deity. Yuuri doesn’t like where this is going. Otabek would ask them questions now, and he’s going to ask why they were fighting. Sure, a lie was in order, but he was terrible at being dishonest. They just needed to diffuse the situation, if only the boy next to him would stop looking so star-struck and just listen.

 

“We’ll be going now.” 

 

His fingers are so tightly gripping the other boy’s shoulder that he knows it has to hurt. He doesn’t want to be so forceful in getting him back to the house, but the last thing they need is for this man to call the police believing that they’d kidnapped him or something. The thought makes him laugh to himself, they were the ones who’d saved him from his  _ true _ abductors.

 

He, Otabek, watches them go with suspicion glinting in his dark eyes. He looks as though he has more to say, but he stays quiet, unmoving. Yuuri can feel the hair on the back of neck stand up under his gaze as he guides Yuri in front of him, using his shoulders to steer him back towards the door. Phichit grabs his upper arm once the pair makes it back to the other sidewalk, and he leans in to whisper, “He’s staring.”

 

Who was this stranger and what did he want? Why had he gotten off and introduced himself?

 

Yuri tries to turn back and look, curiosity gleaming in his seafoam eyes, but he squeezes his shoulders again, warning him not to. Just what were they dealing with here?


	12. Prep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and the 'gang' take a field trip.

“Yuuri! Come on!”

 

He lifts his head, running his fingers through jet-black, messy hair and sighing to himself. Sometimes the others could be so impatient. A few days had passed since Leo had brought the archive of emails to light, and they had, as a team, decided that they’d go to scope out some of the locations. The one they’d chosen to start with was a few hours out of town and it felt more like they were preparing for vacation rather than investigating one of the warehouses of a human-trade ring. 

 

Phichit had insisted that they bring a few bags of supplies. “Just in case,” He’d said, and Yuuri couldn’t disagree with that logic. If they had to stay a bit longer than expected or if things took a turn for the worst they could get themselves out of the situation with the extra cache. The consequences that came with being prepared was just how long it took to  _ get  _ prepared. 

 

“Grab that bag for me?”

 

Leo peeks around the corner of the front door, looking a bit winded from running back and forth from the car to the apartment. The man in question had been standing in the main room with Guang-Hong, who’d promised to stay behind and look after Victor and Yuri, and he nods in response as he follows the American’s pointing finger to a small backpack sitting next to the coffee table. He crosses the room with quick strides, obvious anticipation showing in the brisk way he moves.

 

When he reaches down and wraps his fingers around the strap of the bag he’s met with more resistance than he expected. The bag is heavy as hell, considering it’s small size, and he has to use all of his arm to lift it. Giving Leo a quizzical stare, he slings the bag over his shoulder. A strand of hair comes loose and falls into his eyes, but one hand has his comm, and the other has the backpack. He opts to set down the comm; it clatters on the table loudly. 

 

Finally getting that annoying fringe back in place, he starts towards the door, walking in step with Leo as he begins to speak.

 

“I don’t go on these missions very often,” He laughs, “I’m a bit nervous.”

 

Yuuri has to hide his amusement at that. He was always the one to go out into the fray, right into the thick of it, and while he was content with that, there are some things he wishes he had never seen or heard. Then again, working in this field, he should be used to it by now. 

 

“It’ll be fine. We’ll be cautious and lay low.”

 

They had planned nothing more than to drive by the warehouse or to at least look around the property. Now wasn’t the time to be getting themselves into more trouble with these people. Leo opens the trunk of Georgi’s car for him, allowing him to set the backpack into the trunk amongst the other bags. He sighs quietly in relief, his arm relaxing at the loss of the weight.

 

“Be careful, please,” Guang-Hong has to call out, still standing in the doorway back down the sidewalk a few paces. He waves at the pair, but Yuuri knows it’s meant for the younger man standing next to him. He doesn’t know whether it makes him happy for them or just plain nervous. If something were to happen to one of them, would they lose the other as well?

 

Their relationship hadn’t gone that far yet, but still- 

He has to interrupt himself by clearing his throat. It’s really none of his business, but he can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive of relationships in this kind of work. The thought of losing someone he cared about, it terrified him to his core. He shudders at the mere notion of having a partner during times like these. Just worrying about his team was enough stress already.

 

“Ready?” 

 

Georgi stands on the other side of the car, his hand resting on the door as if he’s itching to open it. He always drove, considering he, despite being a bit over-dramatic, was one of the most patient members of the team. Yuuri could never drive for more than an hour, he got too hyper sitting still for so long. 

 

Phichit and Leo are already getting situated in the car, sitting in the back and chatting as if they were friends excited for a field trip and the front door has been closed and, Yuuri hopes, locked. All there was left to do was get in the car and drive away, but why was his conscience feeling as though it’s had cold steel dropped on it?

 

Emil was staying with the younger man, just in case anything  _ were _ to happen, and most of their weapons were still inside the headquarters. The ones who stayed at home were safer than the four who were leaving. Still, that dread that settles on his shoulders isn’t going anywhere. He supposes that he’s always feeling worried or uncomfortable, but that was his job, as a leader and as the most responsible one in the group.

 

Repressing the sickly feeling in his stomach, he slides into the passenger seat and nods to Georgi, letting him know that it’s time. 

 

The road leading further out of Detroit is typically busy on any day, during any time, but the skilled Russian has no problem weaving in and out of traffic as the younger men in the back seat continually come up with new conversation topics. The mood is light in the car, but the knowledge that they may be biting off more than they can chew is still hanging in the air. 

 

Yuuri finds himself tuning out most of what the others say, lost in thought himself. He thinks about a myriad of things, from the most irrelevant details about the shopping that needed to get done all the way up to something as significant as the details they’d managed to collect on the Russian ring-leader.

 

He finds himself, coincidentally, thinking about Victor.

 

He thinks about how they met at first, how he had a small, purpling bruise just above the bridge of his nose from where that mouse had hit him. How terrified he had been before he realized that the man was just a victim of a sick crime-lord, someone in need of help; desperate. His mind drifts to more vain topics, the thought of his well-kept, silvery hair and how his lips were always curved upwards at the corners. He’d be lying plainly if he said Victor wasn’t an attractive person.

 

That was where it ended, however. 

 

Underneath that positive smile and clear complexion, Yuuri knew that the twenty-seven-year-old held a lot more emotional baggage than he let on. How he managed to be so resilient, he’d never understand. The thought of becoming more involved with the man than simply being his rescuer was a resounding, “No.” Befriending Victor would only push him deeper into the pit that was his overwhelming compassion for those who suffered. He had to suppress those soft feelings, for the good of his team and the success of the organization. 

 

Someone calling his name shocks him out of his trance, and he clears his throat as he turns his attention backward to Phichit. The other man leans in between the driver and passenger seat, his head cocked in curiosity.

 

“Georgi says we're as close as we can get,” The look in his eyes changes a bit, “You haven’t said anything all this time, you okay?”

 

Yuuri nods, pushing his hair out of eyes and letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Had an hour-and-a-half drive really gone by just by sitting in thought? He’s glad for it, in a way. He despises long car rides.

 

Getting out of the car and stretching his legs, he takes a second to enjoy the sun on his skin and the slightly warmer temperature before taking in just where they’d parked.

 

It seems to just be the side of the road, the pavement just a few footsteps away in one direction and a flat expansion of grass in the other. The grassy area is large, spanning off further than his eyes can see, but more in plain sight than he’d expected is a few rows of old storage compartments, like the ones people would rent out in the city. It was a small trek away, far enough to be safe, but close enough to have a good look.

 

The drab gray metal of the building is the perfect cover for whatever wicked, twisted things were going on inside. Georgi and Phichit are armed, and though it makes Yuuri less fearful for his physical safety, he’s still dreading whatever they’re going to see inside these compartments that will appear in his nightmares later.

 

Except, once they get a bit closer, it’s painfully clear that there’s no one there.

  
They had evacuated.


	13. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team further investigates the warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short :)

“I should’ve known.”

 

Yuuri feels ignorant and clueless. He should’ve foreseen this. How could he  _ not _ have thought about them evacuating and cleaning up any traces of their existence?

 

Two people, whole folders, and a computer had gone missing in the past week. Of _course_ they were going to wipe out any set-ups they had within the city. He’d be lucky if they stayed in Detroit at all. If they left that’d mean the entire organization would have to move as well, and how would they? They’d been so lucky to find somewhere abandoned and remote in such a busy city; he doubted there was even a possibility that they’d be that fortunate again. 

 

Georgi shakes his head, coming to stand beside him. “I had a feeling.” He runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, sighing quietly. The compartments before them are completely vacant, resembling a ghost town, and Yuuri knows that his teammates are thinking the same as him. They all had felt something would go wrong, but none of them had expected this exact scenario.

 

“I’m just,” He rubs his temples frustratedly, “I’m stupid for thinking they’d be around here.” 

 

A hand clamps down on his shoulder in a stern but encouraging grip. Leo is the one who comes to stand just behind him, shaking him lightly to get his attention. He can’t read the other’s face when he turns to look at him, but he knows he isn’t angry. No one is.

 

It’s more of a state of disappointment. What frightens Yuuri is the fact that he doesn’t know what- or who- that disappointment is directed at. Was it him? He feels torn and shaken. Sure, he could’ve avoided all of this easily. He could’ve just ignored the noises from the trunk and taken care of the computer while inside the hotel. But could he have  _ really  _ abandoned Yuri and Victor? 

 

He knows there was no other way out of it.

 

“Let’s check it out, then,” Phichit finally pipes up, gesturing forward with his hands, “If they’re really gone?”

 

He looks to Georgi, only to find the man looking right back at him. He was the leader, obviously, they would look to him for confirmation of Phichit’s advice. Looking away quickly, he nods and swallows the lump in his throat. He couldn’t act like this right now, but there was so much on his mind. He tries to clear his head as he takes the first step forward, heading towards the old storage center.

 

Yuuri leads the way, squaring his shoulders to give the illusion that he was confident in taking a quick glance around the apparently abandoned facility. He felt fairly sure they were the only ones around, and even if that wasn't true, they were armed. At least they’d have a fighting chance if this place proved to not be as desolate as it seemed.

 

The building’s cracked, graying walls contrast with the colorful red of the metal, roll-up doors of the actual storage containers. About four rows of these compartments continue down the concrete slab they’re built on, and there doesn’t seem to be any buildings other than this. As the group moves closer it’s plain to see that a few of the doors are inaccessible; giant padlocks chaining them to the pavement below.

 

Whether they were chained by the owner or the men who’d been hiding out here, Yuuri didn’t know. Did it matter? There was no way for them to get into the containers, so he tries to push them from his mind. There were two on this first row that appeared to be unlocked, and he points to the first one in an authoritative gesture. 

 

“I don’t like this one bit.”

 

Phichit shudders a bit, rubbing his hands together as if he’s cold. Yuuri has to agree, but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. He had to decide just what exactly they were looking for here. Leo steps up to stand in the center of the small group, “I doubt they’ve left anything behind,” His voice is as intelligent as ever, “They know they’re being challenged now. They’re quick and clever.”

 

Georgi nods in agreement, “We should just take a look. We did drive all this way.” 

 

Yuuri lets out a breath, stepping away from the group without another word. Leo was right, there wasn’t going to be anything here. He’d led them astray yet again. He just thought, because of the computer, that they’d still be here. They’d taken on a much bigger job than they’d expected when they started chasing these people, but this? It just should’ve been obvious. No one was dense enough to stick around when your location had been revealed to the enemy, especially not an _entire_ organization of people. He places a hand over his mouth to cough, disguising the dread brewing in his chest. 

 

“Hey,” Phichit clears his throat awkwardly, gesturing to Yuuri with worry written on his face, “Let’s just check out these unlocked ones.”

 

The other’s small suggestion helps to give the leader a sense of direction, and he nods, partly in thanks and partly in agreement, before he stands before the first, unchained compartment. It doesn’t take much elbow grease to lift the door, a simple tug sends it upwards in its tracks. 

  
  


The inside of the storage is completely empty, save for a small piece of graffiti on the wall to his left. Its concrete walls and floor are bare, giving off an ominous, desolate feel. They had definitely left no trace when they’d evacuated. Hell, despite being old and barely used, the place looked decently clean. If they’d even taken the time to clean up footprints or any other sign that someone had been here, then Yuuri knows that it’s time to get serious. From now on, these people would know- would  _ expect _ \- and all that means is that it’ll be that much harder to track and expose these criminals.

 

The four of them stand inside the empty container, a nervous quiet settling over them. This place held a bad aura, but Yuuri doesn’t know whether it’s just because he knows what exactly happened here, or if the chilling atmosphere was something that just anyone could feel. 

 

“This was a waste of time,” He shakes his head and closes his eyes in defeat, “We left the others alone to spend five hours doing…” Gritting his teeth in frustration, he tries to contain the word ‘nothing’, knowing that it wasn’t the other’s faults. He shouldn’t be taking this out on them. It hadn’t been that long, but it would be after the ride back. 

 

He can see someone- who he believes to be Phichit- move behind him, but when he turns his head to look at Leo and Georgi on his left side, his younger friend is standing amongst the others. Having a brief flashback to the day he’d encountered Victor, his breath catches in his throat. How could he let this happen again?

 

Just as the other three notice the figure standing at the entrance to the container, he feels his heart drop, and a practically comical thought crosses his mind. 

  
“Not again.”


	14. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger isn't as dangerous as they thought, but he sure knows how to startle everyone.

Yuuri doesn’t move. He decides it’s safer to just stay where he is; frozen in place with his back to the shadow in the entrance. He shifts his gaze to look at the others. Leo’s expression is blank like he simply cannot fathom what’s happened, and Georgi looks the opposite, deadly serious and ready to take action. His frame is turned so he’s facing the figure, and his hand rests on the handgun on his hip. 

 

He can’t see Phichit’s face, his back is turned so he’s facing away from the group. He’d been inspecting the graffiti stain on the wall. Still, his tense shoulders and lack of movement let the others know he’s just as nervous.

 

“Turn around.”

 

The stranger’s voice is deep and brisk, his tone is grave. He’s not playing around. 

 

Yuuri does as he’s told, although hesitantly, and he’s not surprised to be staring down the barrel of a handgun. The figure, who he sees now clearly as a man, is clad in a loose-fitting, leather jacket and a pair of tight, black jeans. His fingers are tight around the gun, and Yuuri is close enough to see how white his knuckles are, his grip wavering slightly. His face is disguised by a black cloth above his nose and a dark-colored helmet sits atop his head. All he can see is the other man’s eyes, mere slits glinting in a dark gaze.

 

He was…  _ familiar _

 

Georgi steps forwards, slightly in front of the other three as if he’s creating a barrier. His own gun is raised up now, but nowhere near as threatening as the stranger’s stance. He’s proving that they’re just as armed and capable, not to mention that he’s severely outnumbered. Yuuri feels a surge of confidence at that; maybe they weren’t as doomed as he’d figured. He can feel Phichit and Leo moving behind him, coming to stand closer in an act of defiance. The fear drains out of him drop by drop, and he can feel the tension fall away and turn to an air of challenge.

 

The stranger’s narrowed gaze shifts from suspicion to opposition. He’s not going to give in, that’s obvious, but Yuuri doesn’t plan on backing down either. He himself isn’t armed, but he knows Phichit has a gun on him as well, despite not having drawn it yet. That was probably best, to remain in control of the situation rather than turning this confrontation into a shooting match. The man shifts his weight, his fingers fidgeting against the grip of the gun. 

 

“Come with me,” His smooth voice falters a bit, “Or else.”

 

It had seemed like he’d hesitated before speaking that threat. 

 

The sudden realization clicks within Yuuri like pieces of a puzzle coming together. This man was  _ bluffing _ . Was his gun even loaded? He decides, slyly, to play along.

 

Motioning to the others, he follows the man out of the storage container. The only sound is their shoes crunching the small rocks that have come loose from the pavement and the metallic clicks of Georgi’s gun as he fiddles with the chamber. The sound is nerve-wracking, and he can see the stranger’s shoulders tense at the reverberation it causes. He stops suddenly, his handgun shaking as he looks over his shoulder to glare at the group, turning on his heels to point it back at them.

 

“Quit that.”

 

The command is simple and deadly serious, but Georgi doesn’t bother to even shift the way he holds the gun. Leo and Phichit seem relieved at that, and Yuuri takes this as an opportunity to steal a glance at the gun tucked into the back of the Thai man’s belt, secured and concealed. They had more control over this situation than the stranger, whoever he was. Whether he was just a complete stranger or one of the criminals, it had yet to make a difference. They’d been well prepared. He tries  _ not _ to imagine what would’ve happened if he’d rushed into this alone.

 

“What’ll you do if I don’t?”

 

The words sting like salt on an open wound. It’s a threat, an antagonistic bite into their assailant’s confidence. Georgi is stoic, handling this situation like Yuuri wouldn’t have been able to. Whether the Russian knows that the stranger is bluffing or not, he has no idea, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He means what he’s saying completely.

 

In a sudden, unexpected blur of action, the man lunges forward. It happens so quickly that no one has any time to react to what happens next until it’s done with. The stranger’s hand wraps around the junction of  _ Phichit’s  _ throat and shoulder,  _ not _ Georgi’s. What had he done to warrant such violence? dragging the tanned man backward in a flurry of movement and fighting, his unrelenting grip on such a delicate place has Phichit struggling in vain. He stands where he had been before, but this time he holds the nineteen-year-old before him with the pistol placed near his head. 

 

The Thai man’s expression morphs from disbelief and shock to barely contained horror. His usually bright eyes are blurred with fear and his lips are tight as he tries to catch his breath from the struggle. He looks to Yuuri with pleading eyes, his frame shaking faintly. He knows that there's no way for the captured man to grab his concealed gun now. To do so would certainly give the stranger grounds to pull the trigger.

 

His blood runs cold. Hadn’t he been feigning this the whole time? Where had he gotten the confidence to threaten Phichit so seriously? Unless… His gun really  _ was _ loaded.

 

His throat tightens as if he’s the one being strangled, and he can barely contain an awkward gesture of surprise and overwhelming anxiety. What was he supposed to do? Before he can begin to shake and breathe heavily as his anxiety always forces him to, Georgi’s gun is raised as well, creating a scenic show-off. Just who was this man? If he was with their enemies, wouldn’t he have already killed them?

 

“You’re bluffing.” Georgi is adamant, his gaze unwavering. “Just drop him and we can talk.”

 

A wave of relief runs over Yuuri at the calm tone in the other’s voice. He was handling this well, like a leader. The thought sends a momentary pang of mixed envy and sadness through him. He wasn’t at all like that. He wouldn’t have been able to respond so easily to such a dire complication. Especially not when it was someone who he considered a close friend. 

 

“You tell me who you are,” The man’s eyes narrow again, and the hand with the gun falls a bit, “Then I let him go.”

 

Georgi’s eyes flicker to their ‘leader’, and Leo, having been scared into silence for the past few moments, looks to him as well. They're waiting for him to say something.

 

“I’m,” He hesitates, noting that Phichit’s safety was possibly on the line, “I’m Yuuri. The four of us have lived in Detroit for years.”

 

He hadn’t thought that just maybe this man thought  _ they _ were the criminals. While still avoiding last names, he feels as though explaining how long they’ve lived in America will offset any suspicion that they somehow tie in with the Russian group. 

 

The stranger drops Phichit abruptly, and though he stumbles on weak knees for a moment, he manages to squeeze between Georgi and Yuuri. He uses them as a buffer to the man who’d held a gun on him, and the Japanese man can feel the other’s breath on his neck as he calms himself down. That had been such an unnecessary act on the stranger’s part; as if all he’d wanted was to fry the group’s nerves even further.

 

Apparently satisfied with this reply, the man slowly unties the bandana around his mouth, but the face it reveals is the furthest from what they’d expected.

 

“I know,” The man almost-  _ almost _ smirks, “I’m Otabek. Nice to see you again.”

 


	15. Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek reveals that he's not dangerous, but his accusation holds some truth.

Yuuri chokes on a noise of surprise, his eyes widening slightly. This was the man they’d encountered on the street just the other day?

 

Maybe he should’ve figured it out by now, those dark eyes had been cryptically familiar. He’d been wearing a leather jacket and a helmet as well, although this one wasn’t a full motorcycle helmet, it was made to simply cover the head. All of these signs pointed to the stranger being Otabek, even if he’d only met the other for a few moments in the street.

 

He recalls how interested the motorcyclist had seemed in their predicament with Yuri, how he’d stopped and introduced himself by name just because he’d been stopped by their quarrel. It had seemed eerily suspicious of him, but just how dangerous was he? It was still up in the air whether his gun was loaded or not, or if he ever planned on harming Phichit at all. Regardless, the thought of his friend in peril makes Yuuri’s skin crawl. He’s not sure how to handle this. His violent actions against Phichit had justified hostility, but he obviously wasn’t with the Russian group.

 

“ _ You?”  _ Leo’s voice is low, but the contempt is clear in his tone, “Why are you here?”

 

It’s a fair question, and the American slowly pushes his way to the front of the group from where he’d been hiding before. His eyebrows are knitted in confusion, but the look in his eyes and the way his mouth curves points to frustration. He hadn’t been on many of these missions, he worked with tech, after all. But his lack of experience had caused an influx of fear when they’d been confronted. He’d probably been ready for some sort of do-or-die situation, but it’d deescalated quite quickly.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure what Otabek wanted, but he knows that it’s not to kill them or take them away. If he’d been interested in harming them, he’d have done something by now, but who was he really? If he wasn’t involved with their line of work, good side or bad, then why was he so inexplicably curious about what they were doing? He went to the extent to follow them here, or at least learn they were headed here, and to catch them by surprise.

 

“You haven’t done anything to make me trust you.”

 

His face remains blank, unmoving, but his tone would make one think he was sneering at them. He’s not joking either, his shaky grip on the gun is loosened, but it’s still there, hanging at his side. Yuuri just wants to get it out of him, who he is and what he’s doing, but he seems to be playing them. He knows for sure now that this man has no idea what he’s in the middle of. No one from the organizations, either side, would need confirmation any further than how long they've lived here. Because they’ve lived in the U.S. so long, it would be improbable to say they worked with the Russian group.

 

“Listen,” Georgi needlessly flicks the hammer on the gun, a simple scare tactic, “We outnumber you. If we wanted you dead, you’d be that way.” 

 

It’s not a threat, it’s a fact, but Yuuri still winces at the harsh reality of his teammate's words. Otabek seems to feel the same way, grimacing ever so slightly at the words, shifting his weight as if he’s reconsidering the situation he’s gotten into. He’s alone in this fight, but the four of the other group are nearly standing shoulder to shoulder. Except for Phichit, who’s still standing behind the barrier they form, focused, but unusually quiet. Before Yuuri can begin to worry about him, Georgi interrupts with another taut response.

 

“Who are you working for?”

 

The man’s eyes widen and then squint, a puzzled look crossing his smooth features. He shakes his head for a split second before opening his mouth, but no words come out. He stammers for a moment, clearly confused, but Yuuri cuts him off with a dismissive gesture of the hand, shaking his head as well. “He’s not with anyone, Georgi.”

 

The Russian turns to the leader with a quizzical stare, obviously surprised by the derailment of his question. But it was true, Otabek was simply in over his head, an outsider who’d found a way in. At least, that was the theory. 

 

“Working for?” He shakes his head more confidently this time, “I’m not with anyone.” He glances around as if he expects people to spontaneously appear from around the sharp corners of the containment boxes. He’s confused and apprehensive, but he’s still as stoic as he’d been from the beginning; eyes blank and mouth straight. How much would it take to get him to spill? Yuuri is quickly growing tired of this back and forth, but he’s hesitant to take the lead. If he screwed this up, he’d look incompetent. He chooses to keep things as they are, no matter how long it will take. 

 

Otabek’s expression shifts abruptly from jaded confusion to blatant surprise. It was as if he'd suddenly connected all the dots and was just beginning to see what was going on here. It seemed he’d assumed they were like him, a curious group of people who came off as overtly suspicious. At Georgi’s telling question, he’d realized the people he’d tried to intimidate weren't just playing around, they were involved in something much bigger.

 

Yuuri was sure it was overwhelmingly frightening, to be faced with the prospect that he’d followed and assaulted what he could only now assume to be some sort of underground mafia. But he doesn’t plan on trying to explain to him who they really are, at least not until he proves his complete innocence as an ordinary citizen.

 

When the Russian man shifts his gun again, Otabek opens his mouth to speak, his surprise still apparent. “I’m not-,” He struggles with the words, “I’m not a criminal or something.” He drops the gun, bringing about a mild shock to the rest of the group, “That’s not loaded… I thought I could intimidate you enough to get you to talk.”

 

“What about?” Leo finally talks, and he's making that face again, eyes filled with disdain and eyebrows furrowed. But it’s exactly what Yuuri is thinking, the prolonged shock from his surrender carrying on into this _next_ surprise. Just what did he think he wanted to know?

 

“That day we met,” He nods matter-of-factly, “You were fighting with someone. He wanted to get away but you wouldn’t let him.” 

 

Yuuri almost sighs. This man had seen him and Yuri that day, but he’d had no idea what was really going on. His unsaid accusation would make sense to someone who’d only seen the older man rope the underweight teenager back into the old apartments, but he didn’t know the whole story. It’s a bit of a relief that Otabek’s simply suspicious of them for kidnapping. The thought is almost laughable, but it’s better than him somehow being involved with the Russian group.

 

Georgi gestures with his hand, blinking at him for a moment before replying, “The boy lives with us,” His lie is utterly believable, “He gets a bit upset sometimes.” 

 

Yuuri has to take a moment to thank him silently. He, himself, was terrible at lying, but the other man always spoke when it mattered most. The atmosphere returns to how it was before this explanation, a wave of silence splashing over the group in the light of Georgi’s lie.

 

Otabek seems to accept it, the confusion giving way back to that blank stare he always wore. Now left without any questions, his theory shattered and left to the wind, he just stares at them, at Yuuri specifically. There was something about that gaze that unnerved him deeply.

  
“So,” Phichit speaks up promptly, shouldering his way in between Yuuri and Georgi, “What now?”


	16. Best Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group can't continue to look around if Otabek is around, but he can't take a hint.

It’s too quiet, Phichit’s rhetorical question lingers in the air like heavy fog. No one seems to want to be the first to speak up. Otabek’s eyes are cast on the floor, shaded in deep thought. He looks up briskly by shifting his eyes, his head still pointed downwards, and fixates his gaze on the man he’d had in a chokehold earlier. Yuuri feels uncomfortable. There was something about the way he looked at people, an intense, unreadable stare. He felt as if the man was analyzing Phichit, boring into him as if he was searching for a crack in his surface. Hadn’t he already unnerved him enough?

 

“Uhm,” Otabek scratches the back of his neck, letting his cool demeanor drop for a moment, “Excuse me for the… Violence.” He nods in the Thai man’s direction, his hand dropping to rest on his hip. Everyone knows now that the gun was never loaded in the first place, but it had still stiffened the group with fear when it happened. The threat he’d made, bluffing or not, is more than enough to warrant an apology, but Phichit doesn’t seem to take it with the grace he always does. He looks away at first, his face screwing up with contemplation and when he looks back, he just nods once. It’s still good-natured of him to accept it at all, but the simplicity of it is a tell-tale sign, to Yuuri at least, that he’d been remarkably and justifiably frightened.

 

Georgi’s voice cuts into the thick tension, putting the awkward exchange to an end. “Anyways, We’re busy here,” His tone is serious, but not as unfriendly as it had been before, “It’s best you left.” 

 

Otabek furrows his eyebrows and scowls, his lips pulling tightly at the notion. He doesn’t speak immediately, but the way his disposition flips clearly highlights his scorn. If he hadn’t planned on putting a pin in this conversation and leaving, what  _ had _ he planned on? 

 

Yuuri doesn’t take any time to think about it, shaking the thoughts from his head and trying to convince his voice to work again. He had to say something if they were to get this man to leave them be. He can’t understand why he always fails in situations like this, why his throat closes up and his mind clouds. He’s always struggled like this, whether it was presenting to his college class or talking to a stranger in the store. Sometimes he hates himself for it, but he knows now is not the time. He has to help Georgi to get them to be left alone. 

 

“So I just,” Otabek’s voice falters as if he can’t find the words, “Leave?” He scoffs and narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly so his gaze seems more intense “I’m supposed to pretend we never had this conversation?” 

 

“Yes,” Yuuri surprises himself with the sudden, involuntary response, “It’s in your best interest to just think of this as an accident.” It comes off as more of a threat than he’d meant it to, but it’s better than he’d expected it to come out. The grip his anxiety has over him seems to melt away with the tension in his shoulders, but he still doesn’t feel entirely confident in his argument. He lets go of a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.

 

Georgi makes the next move, curling his fingers in a, “Come on,” Motion to Phichit and Leo, who turn towards him at the same time. This seems to be the plan, then. Yuuri supposes that just walking away after such a final sentence would be a sensible solution, but Otabek’s gaze keeps him from moving away. He’s unfocused and irritated, but he’s still staring, and it raises the hairs on the Japanese man’s neck more than anything else he’d felt up to this moment. 

 

Phichit’s hand is sudden and cold, despite it not being too chilly outside, and as it wraps around his forearm, pulling him along, he has to pry his eyes off of the other man. It reminded him of the first time they’d encountered one another; a quick, clumsy exchange and a desperation to get out of his way. He knows that Otabek has yet to move, that he’s still standing there in his motorcycle gear, watching them go with confusion and frustration flashing in his eyes.

 

Leo is in the lead when he blinks into focus and, steered by Phichit, comes to stand with the group a few feet down the row of containers, just in front of the second unchained one. Georgi opens it swiftly, obviously disconcerted by Otabek’s solid, unwavering glare as well. Yuuri just wants to get out of his line of sight and into the storage. He’s the first one to enter, practically ducking under the metal door to slide inside. The other’s follow, and they’re talking, but he can’t hear them. He prays that the man will be gone when they come out and that they can continue searching in peace. 

 

The storage cell looks almost normal like the other had been, but on the cement, directly in the center of the compartment, is a splattered stain. It looks like someone had nearly let it dry and then attempted to buff it out with some kind of cheap cleaner. It’s still completely visible, but he’s not certain what it is. He’s not sure he  _ wants _ to know, considering what was probably happening here. It’s not oil or grease, but there’s not a surefire way to tell if it’s blood or something of the like either. Georgi kneels next to it, cocking his head in puzzlement. 

 

Nothing is said, but Yuuri turns his attention from the stain to Phichit, who hadn’t even bothered to enter the compartment all the way, lingering by the door instead. He makes his way over carefully, leaving Georgi and Leo to look over what they’d found. Intent on having to console the shaken man, he stands next to him wordlessly, casting a quick glance at his face. He doesn’t look upset, but he isn’t as peppy and involved as usually, and it makes the mood much more depressing. He can feel his heart sink in his chest.

 

Phichit’s lips turn up in a chaste, unexpected smile, and he wraps his arms around his own torso in an x-shape, holding himself as if he’s cold.  Yuuri places a hand on his shoulder and gestures with his head, inviting the other to join them as they search for any left behind evidence. He hesitates at first, but he turns to follow the older man as he leads him back to the group. They'll have to talk later, the matter at hand was pressing, and they couldn't ignore it.

 

Leo and Georgi are investigating something else now, holding a small slip of paper out as if they’re checking its transparency. His heart jumps slightly, the sight of a possible lead exciting him greatly. He was sure there’d be nothing left, but he seemed to be wrong

 

At least he thought.

 

“That’s just,” He shakes his head in disbelief, his throat tightening to make his voice small, “A blank piece of paper.” Reaching out to look for himself, he checks the other side, only to be disappointed. It really  _ was _ just a blank sheet of paper. Running his fingers through his hair, the piece of paper annoyingly catches on one of the stray locks, so he hurriedly passes it back to Leo. How could he have been so uncharacteristically optimistic about it? He felt so empty-headed, so hopeless.

 

“It’s getting late,” Georgi forces the others to note the sun, low in the sky for mid-afternoon, “We should hurry and continue looking around.” He’s obviously trying to displace Yuuri’s downtrodden attitude and instead, get everyone back to work. He moves casually to leave the stained container, the other’s following thoughtlessly. It seemed _everyone_ was put off by the false evidence, the mood only grows more dejected.

 

This had been a complete bust, and Yuuri feels… Well, terrible. The only thing that changes the gloomy cloud that hangs around his head is the mild surprise he feels when he leaves the storage and takes a look around.

  
Otabek had left.


	17. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the group counts their losses and heads home, they find Guang-Hong hasn't had the easiest day either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a sudden time-skip, sorry if it's bothersome :/ I've been a bit busy these days, but I'm trying my best to make this an enjoyable story. Thank you for all your kindness!!

Yuuri starts awake, his fingers tightening as he makes an attempt to sit upright. He squeezes his hand into a fist and shakes his head to clear his eyes. He had forgotten where he was for a moment, but once he manages to blink the sleep from his eyes, he recognizes the tan interior of Georgi’s car.

 

They’d left quickly after glancing around the rest of the storage compound. Mostly because he was in such a foul mood. The other’s had been more confident about it, simply saying that they had to work harder and dig deeper, but Yuuri had had enough of it. They’d come all that way for nothing, only to be confronted and held up by a stranger. He was tired, even though it was only just about dinner time. The drive was long enough on its own, but he still doesn’t know where all that time went. 

 

He’s in the back of the car this time, as Leo had requested to sit up front to talk with Georgi. It hadn’t bothered him at the time, but the insecurity inside his mind tells him that the other’s saw the Russian as the true leader. He can’t really blame them. He exuded confidence and direction, whereas the Japanese man was meek and unsure. He sighs, his forehead against the cool window as he tries to rouse himself from the nap he’d accidently taken. Phichit is in the back as well, looking out of his window.

 

His eyes are blank, and he doesn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular, but when he glances in the direction of the opposite window, he notices that the other is awake.

 

“Hey, glad you’re up,” A smile graces his lips, “We’re almost back, I think.”

 

Yuuri floods with relief, the sight of his friend back to his optimistic ways comforting him greatly. He nods in acknowledgment, trying to return the grin. He didn’t want to seem upset, as he had been earlier, he really wasn’t. He was just tired, but it seemed he was tired all the time these days.

 

“You got in the car and went right to sleep,” Phichit laughs a bit, still smiling, “It was funny.”

 

“I wish I could sleep that easily all the time.” He pulls his head from the window glass, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He finally manages to pull off a lopsided grin, chuckling quietly and arching his back to stretch his muscles in the confines of the car seat. 

 

He feels grateful as the car rolls to a stop, Georgi announcing that they’ve finally returned. He briefly wonders how the day went for Guang-Hong and Emil, looking after both of the refugees they’d taken in. He throws the car door open once Leo moves out of the way, hurriedly jumping to the sidewalk so he can stretch his legs. Phichit seems to have the same idea, his arms raising up above his head toward the sky, stretching. Everyone seems glad to be back, and out of the car, after the fruitless adventure they’d taken.

 

Georgi is already at the front door, turning his key in the lock and tossing the door open. He calls to the rest of the group, trying to get them all to come inside. Yuuri takes a breath of the chilly air and shifts his coat on his shoulder, heading in through the door and to main room, looking around for the ones who’d stayed home.

 

He doesn’t see anyone at first, but Guang-Hong rounds the corner of the doorway to the kitchen, gesturing wildly for a moment and jumping to stand in front of the group. He seems a bit distressed, which is worrying, but he supposes that it can’t be too bad if they never called. He steels his tired nerves by telling himself there’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s the leader, after all.

 

The Chinese man wrings his hands for a moment before finally opening his mouth, “Yuri’s been in the bathroom all day,” He sighs defeatedly, “Again…”

 

Yuuri doesn’t know whether this is better than he’d expected the news to be, or worse, but he supposes it's all the same. It was obvious they’d have trouble earning the trust of someone who’d been locked away and abused, he never expected him to just- suddenly be kind to them all and listen to them. This would take work and patience, but there was something about caring for someone who’d been so severely mistreated. Something that none of them possessed. None of them were fit to look after Yuri, not even Guang-hong, but he knows the only alternative is to bring him a ward, to a hospital. They'd found him, he felt it was their job to help him now. 

 

His stomach churns with the confusion and indecision. What  _ should _ they do?

 

“We don’t know anything about him,” Leo steps forward a bit and scratches his neck in thought, “We have no idea how to take care of him.” 

 

He makes a fair point, but Guang-Hong comes back just as well, his lips pulling down in a deep frown, “We don’t have any choice but to try.”

 

The silence in the group is deafening, and Yuuri can hardly stand it for one more second. The tension puts pressure on him like he’s got a spotlight on him in front of a huge crowd. He had to say something, anything to kill the quiet 

 

“Let me try to talk to him.”

 

It hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, but now everyone’s looking at him, surprise shining in their eyes. He’d volunteered to try and get Yuri, a fifteen-year-old boy, a victim that he didn’t know how to help, out of the bathroom. And what would he do after that? He was supposed to drag the poor thing out of the bathroom so everyone could stare at him like he was an exhibit? He probably felt safer in the bathroom, out of the way of the prying gazes of his housemates. Yuuri decides, under the questioning looks of his team, that he’ll  _ talk  _ to Yuri. Try to get him to trust them a little more, not get him out of the bathroom.

 

He turns abruptly, trying to ignore the, “Oh… Good luck.” From Guang-Hong as he leaves the main room behind. The last thing he needed was to start telling himself that this would be near impossible. He couldn’t back down after he’d so easily put himself on the job. He makes his way down the narrow hallway enough to get to the bathroom, and, now out of sight of the other’s, takes a moment to breathe. Raising his hand slowly, he knocks once.

 

The door thuds loudly, and Yuuri nearly panics before he realizes what happened. Yuri, from wherever he was in the bathroom, had  _ thrown _ something at the door just after he’d knocked on it. He was trying to scare him away, to get him to leave him alone. He sighs, resting his hand on the door and leaning his weight forward onto it. He knows this will take a while, and quite a bit of talking. That is, only if Yuri chooses to listen, and can understand.

 

“It sounds stupid,” He fixes his eyes on one of the grooves in the white paint of the door, “To say ‘I’m sorry’.” 

 

“How we feel isn’t relevant.” He shakes his head and chokes back a humorless laugh, he forces himself to go on, “We can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through.”

 

He feels a bit awkward, but also emotional. How else was he supposed to talk to a teenage boy who’d been kidnapped and scarred? He couldn’t bring himself to say anything  _ but _ what he was saying right now. It would take someone with a steel trap of a mind to try and be rational and level-headed when it came to this kind of scenario. The bathroom is silent, but he presses on.

 

“We do want to help you,” He leans closer to the door, intent on getting the boy to listen to him, “I want to help, that’s all.”  He means it. Out of all the complicated feelings Yuuri has developed over the past week, he still feels as compelled to help as he had when he’d first rescued him. It was in his nature to be compassionate, and he tells himself that it’s normal for him to want to care for someone who’s been hurt. He tells himself that it still stands that he doesn’t want to befriend either of the people they’ve saved. He's just doing his job.

 

“I know you’re scared, but-”

 

It happens so fast that Yuuri stumbles backward In surprise and hits the opposite wall with the flat of his back, his jaw dropping slightly as the door swings open with the intent of causing him to fall. 


	18. I'm sorry

Sorry, guys. I can't really do this anymore. I'm not really taking this anywhere and both this and the last story I posted are slow, make little to no sense, and have flat characters. I'm not good at writing emotional works even though it's what I aspire to do. I'm sorry if you were someone who thought, for some reason, that this was good. I've been rushing through the chapters as fast as I can, not writing a storyboard anymore, and not paying attention to how each character works. Maybe in a few days, given I don't get any extreme hate for this, I'll delete most of the chapters and my storyboard and try again, this time with a true intent to do better. I'm dealing w/ a lot of shit at home too, which isn't an excuse. Sorry, the lot of you. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know much about how Human trafficking works nor about secret organizations, so feel free to reach out and critic me!


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